Sari

Father is sitting at a long dining table eating a roti with a knife and fork. Fascinated, I sit beside him watching his strange performance.
Mother sits in an empty room as finely spun shadows drown her. Father’s death slowly spreads over her sari.
Grandfather’s lonely hands grope over a wall for the hook on which he can hang his cap.
Grandmother mumbles quietly, “Is the old man asleep again?”
When I insist, Mother changes her white sari.
Where the road takes a sharp turn, Father walks towards the sky.

SARI