by Deepti Ramesh

Granny shall turn 96 this March and
I still beg her to make my favorite sweet,
she accommodates

this sweet is made from wheat flour,
jaggery, nuts, and ghee
the usual stuff you’d find in Indian kitchens

besides broken dreams, burns, and bruised esteem
but there’s a beauty in brokenness
a certain scent of being human

that sound of backwash in aging palms
falling hair, sunken eyelids, false teeth
a tongue tattooed with an aftertaste of tomorrow
(that never comes)

every year is the last year
but we don’t talk about death, instead
how life can be short,

and round like this sweet
that takes hours to get the color right
else it feels like a longing stuck to the palate

frankly, I don’t even love the sweet much
I only love the feeling of
water washing it down my throat

and how we fool death
by giving ourselves reasons
to eat sugar one last time,
(every time)

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Deepti Ramesh is writer based out of Delhi, India. She lives with her husband and 10-year-old son. Besides writing she finds solace in planting roses.