KISMET

BY MONI BRAR

mother pushes a crayon into my dimpled hand, watches a ਮ and then an M swell on the page. she tells me today is the mother of tomorrow, yesterday the grandmother|ਦਾਦੀ, and tomorrow just a seed of unhatched possibility.

she pushes a pencil into my teenaged hand, watches a sentence trellis onto the page. she tells me the trees provide everything, the rivers|ਨਦੀਆ are to be watched, and the sky to be trusted beyond reproach.

she places a pen in my hand, watches this poem blossom on paper. she tells me written words hold power, her illiterate eyes are her kismet|ਕਿਸਮਤ, and the path from mouth to hand is short.