Hidden Denial
By Jay Gandhi
I watch my mother
washing clothes
in the cramped bathroom.
She often sits in the balcony
waiting for her mother
(draped in a sky blue cotton sari)
setting out to buy Okra.
I calmly explain that her mother
was cremated seven years ago.
My father has lost it.
Keeps shouting at me:
your mother was cremated
two years ago.
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