A Somber Embrace

Dad told us a story of Nanna,
of our life in Bangladesh.
Dust, sulfur, garlic, mangoes, sweat,
all gather within half a mile of our home,
where Nanna sits on a creaky wooden chair,
wondering, waving to a wandering stranger.
The stranger approaches with an open hand
and she smiles. He walks away smiling,
his hands filled with coconut and honey pastries.
Above her creaks the tin roof, always at a slant
no matter how many times we would fix it.

Dad reminisced, giving in
to heavy eyelids as we shake him awake.
Not once would he complain.
He’d sit up, wrap his grizzly arms around us
and recall more stories as the fantail plates
on the bedside table filled the room
with the sweet scent of coconut and honey.