She who warmed our old stomachs dropped a pomegranate in our palms . Pomegranates save a lot of forgetting. Mom had her own things to forget against a white wall of a dark night. She bumped into the wall of forgetting .
Luckily she did not forget where her hand was, unlike the other woman who shuffled her feet like early morning birds. Or the other woman who forgets where she hid her comb in dishevelled hair.
Another woman who had no pomegranates forgets where she had left her baby in the Saturday market.
And now even after many pomegranates we keep forgetting where our mom hid her shadows