Where Color by Number Fails

by Nik

My father was born in Sindh
just outside of Karachi
In 1947 he was Partioned across a new border
from something to nothing
A "nonviolent" revolution
Across the subcontinent
Because of the number of gods he believed in

Your father in Jaipur
Who counts the number of gods on his pinky
Traveled the other way
Absorbing the hatred
Just like all the other sponges

And somehow
Our fathers traveled separately
From the same mango continent
To the same prairie state

When I felt your hand fit into mine
I noticed the monochromatic hues
And your lips against mine
I wanted to take all the sponges
And squeeze them out into the ocean
Where they could drown a salty death

But the blood doesn’t wash out
And our interlocking fingers
Could cause your mother to spill her own
Could cause mine to rip her scalp out

Our fathers crossed the oceans
And spawned star crossed lovers
So my honey, my Capulet
We have to let go
So I can go back to counting on my fingers
And…well…you’ve got your pinky.