sea food

Amma's hands trembled as she video-called from Chennai, showing me the morning catch. Salt-weathered fingers held kingfish, the same species my grandmother's grandmother sold at the harbor a century ago. I'm scrolling through my feed in Boston when her post appears, captioned simply: "sea food." The comments flood in—diaspora members weeping at the familiar sight, sharing recipes, stories, belonging. That evening, I write a poem about ancestral waters and modern distance, upload it to our Tamil network. Amma reads it, crying happy tears. Through screens and continents, our heritage swims home.