
a mother's teachings
Sukhvir Kaur
my childhood was a king size bed
where all 4 of us slept,
while mama and dad found comfort on the ground
it was the small kitchen
that constantly smelled like masala
and always opened its arms to passing through-ers
i never saw home in any house
for there was no need
to bend the knee to cold bricks
because home was the wrap-around porch of your arms, mama
home was encased in tiny moments:
sun-shining, lazy napping, silly dancing, cha sipping moments
that taught us that no body of bricks can house love
mama,
you told us to find home in each other
so,
when i say i am homesick
it is not for loss of bare walls
rather,
it is the sorrow
that comes when
distance replaces hugs
and
phones replace cracked mugs
it is the inevitable mourning that follows the end of childhood

Sukhvir is a J.D. turned stay at home mum to a wonderful toddler by day and an aspiring writer, scribbling away under fluorescent lighting by night. She weaves elements of her Punjabi heritage, faith, childhood, and love stories into her poems. You can find some of her pieces published in the Santa Clara Review, Poets Choice, Anti-Langorous Project, and Prevention at the Intersections.