The Ears

I stayed on the cleared path—seeing it from a distance was enough. It felt inappropriate to sully the snow that settled immaculate around his grave—no animal prints, fallen leaves, or detritus in sight. I lowered my gaze and recited a prayer.

There is a pulse to Urdu that cannot be translated. There is a lexicon of context that cannot, should not, be explained. There is a beat to Urdu that stiffens in my American mouth,