They tell me stories of their oceans

how they crossed them

discarding motherlands like old loves,

the people they left behind-

"you come from a family of heartbreakers"

lighting cigarettes they tell me it tasted better back home

yellowed pulps of sun-drenched mango

the thick skin of sugarcane

air; hot and sweet from overripe lychee trees-

my grandmother was married under one.

heritage blossoming in dark, dampened soil

"in your palm, the life of five generations"

we share the same eyes

brown, like the sandalwood

that grew in their backyard

ancestry running through

purple green veins

the daughter of the immigrant

has a history too.

Ashna PrakashComment