Heirlooms
by Rekha Mehra
I come from a millennia-old country I have no heirlooms those who fled
before me brought little to hand down no silk saris no brass pots no polished
wood shelves no photos no books not even memories they wanted to share
my mother once gave me earrings she wore at her wedding hastily salvaged
in flight gold boughs beaded with gems pomegranate plum gooseberry
they got stolen I have no heirlooms I am twice removed from ancestral lands
I dream the one I didn’t know scented with pungent sprays of mustard yellow
blossoms rippled green fields orchards festooned in red ripe mangoes
gardens draped in marigold dreams are all I have no heirlooms my first-born
grandmother whose mother died young in childbirth raised three brothers
& a sister herself died alone in middle age I don’t know her given name
replaced by her in-laws when she was married as a child I have no heirlooms
my fleeing mother carried me in her & in her head unwritten recipes
from her mother of poultices made with turmeric & mustard-seed oil for pain
ginger & eucalyptus tea for coughs ghazals she sang as lullabies
they became my heirlooms I grew old not knowing what I’ve missed
from that world refrains remedies gems of pomegranate plum gooseberry
Rekha Mehra is a poet and economist living in Washington, DC. She writes about migration, family, current events, and nature and the environment. Her poems have appeared in Oberon, the HillRag and The Prose Poem. Her entries in poetry competitions received recognition as follows: Honorable Mention (New Millennium Writings and The Prose Poem), finalist (Bellingham Review), twice long-listed (Fish) and short-listed once (Bridport). In 2024, she participated in the Sewanee Writers’ Conference. Find Rekha on Facebook and X: @mehrarekha1.
‘Heirlooms’ received an honourable mention in The Prose Poem’s 2024 Prose Poetry Competition.