My grandmother,

She was last seen ten years ago with

the weight of the world on her hips

an unbearable silence on her lips -

a straight line like the parting in her

ink black hair that knotted itself

in her gold thaali when she slept

soundlessly, curled like the children

she carried and cleaned and cared for,

her bangle leaving imprints against

soft flesh that would in years to come

go looking for her again in the thick

of a malabar monsoon - unrecognizable

and fiercely frightened of the loss

about to be incurred.