I Watch Her Watch
She squats on a grassy mound by the river
she crossed seventy years ago,
left her family behind, a bride of fifteen hed bent,
shoulders slouched, the lazy patterns of silk and gold
threads of her wedding sari heavy on her shoulders.
I watch her claw-like fingers tremble
she clutches the stout stick she leaned on and trudged
thirty steps from the homestead
insisting she had to see the boat sail away.
Insisting she had to see the boat sail away.
Her cotton sari floating around her
the ghompta fluttering in the breeze, a stranded sail,
cloaking her shriveled skin the color of morning mist
blue veins meandering down her hands
rivers swollen by the mighty Ganga.
I watch her, my eyes half shut
see her squint, beyond space, beyond time,
seeing her past, my future.
I watch my Grandma watch me as I sail away,
a bride off to her husband's land
leaving her family behind,
crossing the river she crossed.
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