It was her grandmother’s brooch,

 she would rather have lost anything but that.

 The leaf-shaped diamond brooch was the only ornament she possessed.

 The brooch which her grandma had fastened her cap with till her last breath.

 The cherished heirloom brooch that she had now lost.

 How grandma nursed her bloody knees and washed the soot off her face

 when she rode straight into a rubbish bin.

 How grandma crushed geranium leaves between her feeble fingers

 and pressed it to her nose.

 How grandma filled her head with all kinds of lovely stories.

 How they made sandcastles and built houses from bales of hay.

 How she sat with grandma bingeing on The Golden Girls

 while digging into maraschino cherries.

 How grandma mollycoddled her when silly Peter broke her heart.

 Tracy wasn’t sobbing only for the brooch.



Swati Moheet Agrawal


Swati Moheet Agrawal lives in Mumbai, India. Her work has appeared in Café Dissensus, Friday Flash Fiction, Indian Periodical, ActiveMuse, Setu, Kitaab, StorizenTwist & Twain, Indian Economy & Market Magazine, Life Positive and elsewhere. When not buried between the pages of a book, she likes to dabble in decoupage art. 


  1. admire the work arriving from indian poets, there's a real literary revolution going on in that region.

  2. it has an old world tone to it with a modern sensibility. nice work.

Previous Post Next Post