My Grandma – Mostly Fictional

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I left her at the window
Of the visitors’ gallery at the airport – on a wheelchair
Tears leeching through my eye sockets
And my pappadam face soggy with run-off
“I was never going to see her again this life”
A little voice told me……

And now every time I crunch into a pappadam
I remember her ailing face conjure a smile
Perhaps she knew what was to come
I though knew – that her sunset was not far

And now when I look at the full moon
I reminisce my pappadam face that fated day
As she took a piece of my cheek – never to return
A bite of my still-crispy pappadam skin
Without realizing how salted it was
How salting it would be in memory’s hold

And that bite of my cheek still haunts me
Every poya sunset, when I look up at the sky
For a full pappadam to spray some moonbeams – to rekindle that day
When I flew to Australia abandoning my roots
And my taproot seated on a wheelchair
Awakening something deep and meaningful

And love left her echo that day
– never to silence, wither or sleep

And every pappadam is as crispy as her memory……..

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