Ishta-devata

That summer evening, the smoke
of disquiet gathered between her voice
and thought as jackfruit chips
sizzled on the three stone stove.
At dusk, she heaped herself in portions
on notebook sheets for grand-nieces
and grand-nephews, her smiling
face in the mirror of evening relish.
By the well, she drew water to scrub
off lingering affinities from their day
to send them home as sandalwood
scented prizes for mothers. Later,
sipping the night from a brass tumbler,
she reasoned with the other inside
her hollow. After seasons, she lived
in frames on walls, peered out of trunks
as memorial pictures, congealed
to this idol, wearing her face,
her ruby nose pin, her red silk-
a goddess unified as stone.