Centum
Her kitchen appears unused. No plantain peels huddled in the corner. No orphan mustard seeds—until she wanders in between medication to make adai for her American grandson. He makes her laugh with his terrible Tamil. She strokes his face. Too young for beard, too old for advice, but she tells him what she told her children when they carried their oversized bags to the exam hall while she stood outside under the Neem tree.
Just get me centum in math.
He smiles at the familiar centum. She smiles, gums and eyes. Cancer or not, she wants her 100.
Photo Credit: anjuli_ayer
Wow so deep words. Straight from the heart
Nice description….. mothers are special!
You weave so much poignance into prose! The true centum! 😍
Wowww..perfect depiction..