bobbing for apples

my daughter is describing India
the contours of its shoreline
and just like that I’m off
to the backwaters of my brain
searching for the capital
to impress her

there, forgotten facts float
like waxy apples, resisting
my efforts to retrieve them
thrashing in the dark
scattering this way & that
until, triumphantly– New Delhi!

but she has long moved on
recounted the jewels of her day
in my soaking absence
and, though proffering a smile
for my parlor trick–
she has never much cared for apples