I
hadn’t asked her much, just how she felt, and she told me all about her day, and how she’d washed the sheets, and how she could not understand why the towel got so heavy when it was wet. She’d also sunned the mattresses, such tired bones and so much to do, and my eyes filled with tears when I thought of how I was simply going to say “Salaam” and walk away and so many words would have been trapped inside her. I would have passed by as if what lay between those bedclothes was just old life and not really my grandmother. |
English Studies > 4 Point Literature >
