print previewback CAROLINA HOTCHANDANI
Somehow History
passes through us like this. I was a toddler,
enthralled as you dunked the metal globe
into your steaming cup. I watched
the water surrounding the sphere turn gold
like that crescent of sky that touches the sun
as it rises. The ball bobbed, radiating
amber. Later, I will learn of high tea,
of Empire, the colonies. You will tell me
of India’s independence, of your new sense of home,
and I’ll turn back to the past preserved here—
in the stained cup where you poured the milk,
where it clouded the amber as you sang
“Tea for Two” and bounced me on your knee.
I wobbled—a child on one of history’s limbs. 
Archipelago
Somehow History