A Photo in a Silver Frame

between saree blouses —

green, black, and blue, 

neatly   folded 

              and 

aligned;

my mother hides a treasure:

the faded sepia 

of my grandmother,

a woman I never met,

smiles back at me.

my finger travels across,

an embossed frame.

I read, as one who is sightless —

into the story of their lives.

across seas they ached

each for the other, in their hushed way.

a rare image, one edge torn —

she is safe within 

the silver boundary of her frame,

between my mother’s blouses.

Nanima

2 thoughts on “A Photo in a Silver Frame

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