The Buddha’s Lap

i am dyed a rich, complex shade of blue
with purple hues
and gold designs intricately
outlining my stomach and thighs
the sun is baking the colors
into my skin until
the paint starts cracking-
i hear parrots squawking
i am in the jungle
and I’m not afraid of elephants
i keep thinking
one might come near me
and how much
id like for it
to be pink
and i would gaze at it.
but that doesn’t happen.

i head for the water
there are bugs all around me
buzzing and i dip my toe into
a stagnant river,
the blue spreads like watercolor
i see a statue of Siddhartha
it’s stone and the size
of my father
and there is moss
creeping up the side of him,
his eyes are lowered,
into his lap
and i want to crawl
into it so i wade over
to him, grabbing lily pads
as i go, for balance
in the hot, hot sun.

most of my color is gone
into the river,
which is even more
beautiful now
dyed vibrantly behind me
ive been splashing,
i dove under
to cleanse myself of it
but as i climb into
the warm stone
i leave a handprint here
there, a vague hint
of a foot print,
i cover my mouth
to hide my smiling
and let my feet
dangle over the edge
of his knee
i hold his chest
with my staining hands

i am so warm
in the Buddha’s lap
and there is buzzing
in my ears
moths and dragon flies
are settling
here and there
my cheek warms
on his stomach
and like a statue,
I think of nothing

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