Dr. Padmashree R P Poet Free verse

What She Never Had to Teach

My grandmother's hands 
knew things mine have forgotten,
how to make bread rise, 
how to hem a dress 
so it would last.

She saved everything: 
buttons in mason jars, 
stories in the space 
between stirring and serving, 
love in the way she said 
my name.

This is what we lose
when we move too fast,
the slow art of remembering, 
the patient work
of passing things down.

Her kitchen was a kind of church
where recipes were prayers,
and every meal 
a small act of keeping 
the world together.

Now, I try to learn 
what she never had to teach: 
how to make something
with my hands, 
how to turn memory 
into bread, 
into words, 
into something 
that will feed 
the ones who come after.

Each story I tell my daughter
is a vote against forgetting, 
a way of saying: 
this mattered, 
we mattered, 
you matter too.

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