three generations 

my grandma talks about how her father was a tax collector for the british

my mom talks about the trains she would take from india to bhutan

i tell them we covered imperialism in world history, and the importance of railroads. somehow my mom and grandma make world history seem less distant. closer. 

— 

my grandma tells me how she always wanted to work and learn to drive but never got the chance to do much of either

my mom tells me about when she got her first scooter, and how she rode a car up parking lot stairs when she first came here. 

i don’t know what to say as i stare at my unfinished drivers course.

 — 

my grandma tells me how she had to show my grandpa’s mom she could sew and sing before they married. it was the most intense interview she could imagine. 

my mom tells me how she flew into dfw almost in tears that my dad wouldn’t show up, her thoughts muddled by friend’s stories. stories where the groom forgot to come, or left the girl at the airport. but my dad came. with a bouquet of red roses and an old honda.

i smile at rom-com’s and read love stories and write my own. 

 — 

my grandma’s words bubble with opinion

my mom’s ears listen to the opinion

i, like my grandma, unable to swallow judgement whole, glare atit and spit it back in poetry.

 — 

maybe the three of us are closer than we thought.