my words, disguised

Dear Mummyji,

You can’t read this.

But I hope you can feel it.

(Or at the very least, I hope this works)

My words are a disguise

disguising guilt and poignant pain through the

disassembling of truth and fact

directing tears back into my eyes before

gnarled fingers caress them gently into my hair.

You can’t understand this.

But I hope you can feel it.

You’re the first person I wrote to.

You’re the only person I evoke through

my words, disguised.

My grandmother's hands are playing a symphony--

Sweat beads and travels around wrinkled skin channels,

Dripping onto a dampened chest, heaving

Still breathing,

whispering old, unwritten recipes like a mantra

Do you whisper so you cannot forget?

Or are the sounds of your voice

Whisping, whispering,

whisking you away to a time where such furtive words were shared not uttered?

Do you whisper to quiet the unquiet that has settled in your stomach too?

My grandmother’s hands are playing a symphony--

The garden, an extension of body

A living embodiment that thrives, lives, and

breathes,

Even when she can’t.

Do you grow them so your hands have purpose?

The soil and stone digging into your fingernails

leave imprints of their love, a reminder of your care.

Do you tend to them so your fingers can feel something other than just the air?

It seems you, like Hamilton and me, are also planting seeds in a garden you will never get to see.

My grandmother’s hands are playing a symphony--

Anxiety dances from fingertip to fingertip

Straining tired muscles to peek beyond, waiting

Still breathing

To say goodbye, not knowing if for the last time.

Do you think you could ever forgive me?

Your hands fidget like mine, pushing feelings out

Not through our collective lips and throats

But through the symphony of our hands.

Your hands are like mine.

Do you think you could ever forget

that I directed my tears back into my eyes?

Do you think you could ever forgive me

for saying goodbye, yet again?

Dear Mummyji,

You can’t read this.

But I hope you can feel it.

(Or at the very least, I hope this prayer works).