Story of a brooch
Every Saturday evening
My grandmother was busy
Ironing her whites crisp
Scolding me with every fold
For inheriting her husband’s
Dark skin and dark thoughts.
Folding her drape
Fine like a fan
Its golden lines shining
She would take out her brooch
Of six red little berries
Set in a basket of gold
Her face resplendent,
Holding it like a baby.
I would ask her,
“Have you tasted berries?”
‘ Must be very sweet’
She’d touch them loving
And mumble the name
Of her youngest child,
Moms carry their youngest
On their shoulders forever.
Naming a bird
Scoop this mystery
With both your hands
Knead well
In the depths of your soul
Hollow it out of the depths
Of dark silence
Wrap it in a smile
Turn it around and shape it.
Pour your dreams
Deep into its dark eyes
Let them sparkle
Like naked stars
Give it wings
And feathery songs
Set it flying
Across the oceans
Tell it your tale
And don’t forget
To murmur a name
Into its fiery chest
I call it love.
Memory
In the daylight
He remembered
Every pothole
On the road
And avoided them.
In the dark
He remembered
Every mole
On my body
And circled them.
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About the Author
Jaya Anitha Abraham teaches economics and statistics at Abu Dhabi University. Her literary interests include writing and translating poems. Her poetry narrates her insights and experiences using natural imagery and modern life. She has published her works in major online portals such as Literary Hatchet, Poetria, Spill Words and Mad Swirl. In addition to writing poetry, she is also interested in green and mindful living.
