Himani Dias
MARGARET
Decades past her story, she told me … Her father fed her rice balls Remember with a pang, the way she said ‘If only they were here now’ Sixteen’s not many years To finish playing with books Decades later, she told me … She’d wanted to be a nurse Donned in ethereal white Eighteen, she made a pretty bride Cheeks still fresh and rose-hued An army medic, three decades aged Standing by her side She told me she wanted to go abroad Learn crafts, skills and more In all her ninety-four years on earth She never left the shore Young bride, new mother To eleven and then, to ten … She started befriending loss Not too many leap years past A huge motorbike, the only souvenir Of a husband lost too young when Ten children, nine unmarried A riot inside her and out Now, I know—how she picked up Walked miles back and forth Crafting clothes, weaving leaves, ploughing fields And feeding broods The sheltered daughter, the weathered woman I knew her in her sunset years When the strength in her arms Was the memoir in her veins Her hair had streaks of white And her eyes danced with slate-green rims She never told me in her own words Her wrinkles, closed lids and grin sang To me, then and now Of her phoenix tears
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