Poet’s Note: Aita: Grandmother in Assamese.Usually the father’s mother.
On Monday …the house feels mammoth.
The grandchildren put flowers by her photograph.
On Tuesday, the Zucchini bounty is noisily
harvested, and piled neatly for distribution.
Wednesday brings on a bout of weeping from father.
Ma tries to cry along but cannot.
On Thursday, they postpone reading her will.
Not an auspicious day for the family.
On Friday, the brothers engage in a shouting match.
The children pause in the middle of cricket.
On Saturday, the obituary appears in the newspaper.
They have misspelt her name. More tears.
On Sunday, the visitors abruptly leave, Ma asks if we
should put up the room for rent.
Late in the night we huddle together,
father wonders aloud if I will ever put him in a nursing home.
I marvel at how he makes everything about himself.
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