Recollections

Like the creaky wheel of an old cart

and a rickety rickshaw ride

Like the sooty kettle on a black stove

and the shine in my blind mother’s eye.

Like the bullock that ploughs the field

and the well that goes down deep

Like the post office at the end of the lane

and dried hay that lies on a heap

Like the stolen tamarind’s from Nana’s tree

and grandma’s toothless smile

Like the cane the master used

to teach me tables when I was a child

Like the oil lamp on the window sill

and the creaking in the stillness of night

Like the freedom of my backyard

and the protection in daddy’s sight.

This is what a to-be bride said when asked what she would remember her childhood in her village as…

Sameen

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