From Them

Somewhere between my Mother’s dry skin
And my Grandmother’s oily complexion, I reside.

Perched in each crevice of their wrinkles
Is my story—Unveiled!

Placed above a steel cupboard,
By a mischievous uncle,
Donning over-sized Ray-Bans—
A snapshot from my childhood.

Hidden in the folds of their multi-colored saris
Are the family secrets—Untold!

I’m not privy to facts or fiction
I’m a child in their eyes; innocent,
To be protected from the harshness
Of familial truth: Betrayal and Sacrifice.

In the cabinets with Tumeric and Tamanrind
Their wishes—Unfulfilled!

My Mother became the Doctor
my Grandmother willed her to be,
But refused to cook—that domestic feat—
We never ate at home; except when Amma visited.

Resting in each of Amma’s visible frown lines
My past—Unforgotten!

I promised young me I wouldn’t depend—
On a man to meet my needs
Or children to fulfill my dreams—
On anyone else to make me Happy.

In both my Mother’s disappearing laugh lines
My future—Undone!

I vowed never to be so Strong
or successful that I wouldn’t need someone
to curl up with in the heat,
Reading Harlequin novels under cotton sheets.

Somewhere between my Mother’s dry skin
And my Grandmother’s oily complexion, I survived.