Packing his case, your son gives you a cursory look, and “Delhi” by way of alms.

You hurry to the kitchen, pack a lunchbox with heart-shaped cookies.

Afterwards, you picture him munching, smiling, thinking of you.

When he doesn’t answer your calls you’re sad, but sure he’s just busy working.

Mandira Pattnaik writes flash and poetry and has been published in Passages North, Amsterdam Quarterly, and 50WS, among other places. Follow @MandiraPattnaik