by Fabiyas M V

After the wedding ceremony, she walked up the steps, hand in hand, with specks of shyness. My grandma, even her home too, disappeared in the time bin. Only those concrete steps remain. Shrubs have sealed the footprints. A kingfisher feather and a broken snake eggshell lie among the dried leaves. Has her soul been recycled and reinstalled in some infant somewhere? Or does she wake up and climb these steps in the dream-light? These questions bear fanciful beauty. But what kept her serene, even when the death rattle echoed, is her belief that all will be gathered again. First published in The Literary Hatchet

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