It wasn’t silence that was her guest
Quiet, accompanied by peace
Sat on the sofa
Smoothing the creases of her home
As she threw away a pin dot piece
Of the fried egg
For any lurking perethayas
She thought of her boys
Sure she could hear them breathing
If not for the whirring
Of the ceiling fans
She breaks open the egg
Allows the moon like yolk
To mingle with the yellow
Kiri hodi
While orange desiccated coconut
Dances a slow dance
And she remembers her boys
Having dinner just an hour ago
While she tried to ignore the
Pain in her joints
From having worked all day
And now
Cooking for three
A more tiresome job
That when she cooked for four
The younger one
So innocent at seven
Laughed at the smiley face he drew
On the white of the bread
With the kiri hodi
And his brother
Wiser at ten
Gives the small one a tired look
But then
Breaks into a smile
As he gives the face
An orange pol sambol smile
Then
At a moment of confusion
Or maybe forgetfulness
The younger one,
The artist,
Says
“This is Thaththa”
And while the older one suddenly finds
The shapes, colors, textures of his food
Interesting
And the younger one
Battles tears
That are a result of knowing
He has hurt his Amma
She,
Tired
Hungry
Alone
Smiles and says,
“Stop playing with your food
Darling
And eat”
Podda fears a slap
Or maybe a caning
Like his father used to give him
Every once in a while
But no
Amma is too kind
Too loving
So she pretends the words didn’t stab her
Although they did
Just like when the boys’ father told her
“I’m leaving”
And later
When Lokka said
“Thaththee introduced me to a nice Aunty”
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