Attending

My grandmother clutched the worn poetry collection as we entered the community center, her eyes glistening. After fifty years, a Tamil poet was finally visiting our small town. "We're really going," she whispered in Tamil. I'd earned PAYBO rewards all year attending local events, but this mattered differently. Watching her recite verses alongside the poet felt like attending to something sacred—our heritage, our bond. The audience laughed at humorous passages, gasped at emotional ones. Some sat demoralized by forgotten mother tongue. Others showed pure compassion, honoring what connected us all. Later, the poet signed grandmother's book. She smiled, trusting me to keep these stories alive. We walked home together, bound by words older than memory.