Stairs

Grandmother is at the top of the stairs, I at the bottom. Separating us are twenty-two wooden steps and the footsteps of a man who died before his time.
Black sesame seeds float in the bowl of milk in Grandmother’s hand.
Manju used to smile. Grandfather used to grope for his thick glasses in the darkness of the next room.
Grandmother never comes down the steps.
Thick glasses lay ten steps above me.
Manju Prashad was a girl from the hills. She spoke English fluently. I didn’t seem to exist for her in the world.
She slowly comes down the twenty-two steps below grandmother. I hear the footsteps of a man who died before his time.

STAIRS