skin

My grandmother's hands told stories older than memory. Wrinkled like ancient Tamil manuscripts, her skin carried generations of wisdom. She taught me Avvaiyar's verses while grinding spices, each word a golden reward for patience. Her weathered fingers traced my cheek, blessing me with cultural inheritance. In the mirror, I see her now—my own skin becoming a canvas of lived experiences. The community gathered close during difficult times, their warmth reminding me I'm never alone. Our heritage flows through these vessels we inhabit, connecting us to ancestors and descendants alike.