Graceina Samosir
after Aja Monet
grandma’s hands were an oiled comb
through my blackened hair, a twist of the wrist
to curl the ends. they were the pointa broom’s
coconut branches dusting hardwood,
& baby powder on my brother’s behind.
her hands were a belna pressing dough into rounds,
clapped roti over the kitchen sink, spoons of dhal
over white rice. they were shaky handwriting,
a slow looped R, mouthing uncertain hindi
alongside bollywood subtitles. her hands were
palms pressed together, hummed mantras, agharbhatti
circling mourtis. grandma’s hands were a mother’s
hands, kneading skin & carrying sleepy bodies.
they were spare dollars for churros & italian ice,
rite aid gum & a bucket of KFC. her hands
were my hands as I taught myself to pray
again, in the quiet of my apartment.
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Jessica Nirvana Ram is an Indo-Guyanese MFA candidate at the University of North Carolina-Wilmington. She is equal parts poet and essayist, while occasionally moonlighting as a fiction writer. Her work appears in Barrelhouse, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and Memoir Mixtapes, with work forthcoming in The Hellebore Press. Jessica also recently attended the 2021 Tin House Summer Workshop. You can find her tweets about teaching, writing, and all other life things @jessnirvanapoet.