She buries an egg under the steps every time her daughter Didi, a beauty in love with the wrong man, looks wistfully beyond their yard. It is even able to serve as a metaphor for transnational identity. My dad always taught me that we were in between. He's Indian from the West Indies and my mother is not. We live in the States, but we come here every summer to be with Uncle Tom and Aunt Inez and George and Timmy.
Light is like that.
Here and there. It is reproduced here with the permission of the author.