Sunita’s Smile Jay Mitra

Sunita’s Smile

small white teeth in dark brown gums radiate the room with light and love her nimble fingers weave folds into fabric with the same grace of a harp player I watch her work mesmerised she pins the slipping silks to my shoulder and smiles “that’s better,” she says with a sari secured to me I can now move freely we crowd around her cooking crunching through the baijis she balanced on a tray we leave our lips open, pushing out the burning heat with quick, quiet exhales we are saved from the embarrassment of our over eagerness for our brown faces are focused on the Bollywood film. her son sits on her lap; her kajal-lined eyes trap a small reflection of the screen in her iris. she strokes her son’s hair tenderly and I know that he will grow up happy.

Jay Mitra