Two women share the same space.

One young, the other old.

One from this generation. One from another.

Bowl of uncooked long grain rice in bride’s supple hands,

Mom-in-law stands behind blossoming spotless shoulders,

to inspect the rise of rice.

Rubbing starch off rice with benign fingers, she plays,

admiring her youthful face rising to the brim.

But a handful of grains, following the law of gravity, head to the hole.

Fledgling hears whimpering noises behind.

With each dropping grain,

Tears, the size and shape of pearls, fall from a rippled face.

Still playing, new hands enable fallen grains, and they are gone forever.

Novice spins to meet weary eyes, understand their cry,

and hear them say, “You may not appreciate this today. But, I hope some day you will. A grain lost to the sink is one less grain on the table.”

Today, the bride, a Mom-in-law herself, washes rice with care and delight.

Today, she appreciates the value each grain brings to her life and to those she’s connected with.