Grandma

She skewed seven stretch marks

bearing eight oysters

who dole out her dowry

in the white of her milk. 

Prayers, her morning manners

the book her gift

for gall and worms, 

red seas never fretted

on her form

where not even a crease

could be carved by

the crown of thorns. 

She wore her veil

to teach hymns

to clouds and children

writing on seedy sand

of the raving rivers

as a ritual. 

She never let her mouth

bisect the body and blood

of Christ, those were alms for her belly

and tooth of her tongue. 

She removed the relics

of the rice she shared

with the starving supplicants

on the stranded streets

each grain fed

without fingers of fossils. 

She is the testimony

to a generation of stars

and stripes

her milky way

saluted with a smile with

her name and

sound of her song, 

the day she gifted us

her birth.

Dedicated to my late grandma

1917- March 14 th 2011

First published in Muse Indian Jan-Feb issue here and Message in a Bottle review here.