Piki
I nicknamed this tiny girl Piki, “Cuckoo”
because she was furtive yet brave,
and had a distinctive cuckoo-like voice.
I would always see her upon landing
in Bangalore when I exited with my baggage.
She wore a see-through sleeveless pinafore and
no underwear. I guessed she was six and that she
was not raised by her parents, who I thought of
as cuckoos who plagiarize and lay their eggs
in another bird’s nest for rearing their babies.
In India, cuckoos are sacred to Kamadeva, the
god of desire and longing. Piki became holy to me
and full of desire to help. She would charge up to me
ahead of the other urchins seeking work and call out
“Cooey?” or “Coucou?” (“want help?” in French).
She learned these words as “Hi there!” from
disembarking French tourists. The sound of her call
was like a soft knock or the gentle afternoon
murmuring of a morning dove. She was so small that
I might have held her in the palm of my hand.
Standing up she was a little taller than my bag. So,
try as she might, she could not carry it. Relinquishing
the effort of squeezing the handle, she would pat-pat
the sides of the suitcase as I made my way to the taxi
as if to assist me in getting aboard.
by Deacon Lucien Miller
from The Hidden Side of the Mountain
—Encounters with Wisdom’s Poor and Holy
Fons Vitae, Louisville Kentucky, 2021
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