RSS Feed



“Take my saris,” you plead,

“I no longer wear these.”

But I always refuse.
They are too old for me;

Too drab for me;

Just never my color;

Nothing to go with it;

Or I have no time

To starch and iron cottons.

I stoutly refuse to see

The disappointment

You quickly hide.
Back across the time zones,

I am dressing for a party.

I am excited to drape my bright new silk

Matched with the perfect jhumkas.

As my daughter perfects my pleats,

She gives me a sudden hug,

“Mmmm,” she breathes in, content,

“You smell just like Ammoomma!”


One response »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: