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F i f t y- One National Day, 2016 This year, it falls in the seventh month, which is when the dead remember us. Now that I live alone, I’ll spend the morning tending the fire in the urn downstairs: the grass is red and white with last night’s joss. In the afternoon, if it doesn’t rain, I’ll do the laundry. Take the curtains down, hang out the sheets. It’s hard to find another day like this for a thorough clean. Believe me. Something’s always left undone. Evenings are usually when I phone the girls. Not today. It’s a long weekend, so they’ll have gone. I’ll take a walk instead, then lock the door. It’s said that most can’t quite get past the step, but you never know what spirits lurk beyond. Mother used to say as we get older, we take after our children more and more. I’m not so sure. My second one is braver, asks, every year, why I would bother. My first won’t even come close to our altar – she’s found something better to explain what we’re for, where we go to when we go. Where else but here? That’s what I’d like to know. It was I who taught her to ask such questions. With age, these are the things that start to show. 90
page 95
Nocturnal for Grandmother Look. This is the garden you have watered. In the wet season the grass grows over. Untrimmed, the hedge is still in flower.  We have set tables across your porch. Stacked them with plenty, more than we can ask.  Above us, lights fill a second sky; windows, left wide, sing the evening rain. Do you see? Over your shoulder an earthen bowl brims with ash and laughter, as guests come to sit with us awhile. Their children and yours are playing at the swing. Their gifts are tucked among our twos and threes. Look again. Late December, and the tree is hung with fruit. These are our faces, that are turning  to salt. Our feet that linger and are now stone. 91

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F i f t y- One

National Day, 2016

This year, it falls in the seventh month, which is when the dead remember us. Now that I live alone, I’ll spend the morning tending the fire in the urn downstairs: the grass is red and white with last night’s joss. In the afternoon, if it doesn’t rain, I’ll do the laundry. Take the curtains down, hang out the sheets. It’s hard to find another day like this for a thorough clean. Believe me. Something’s always left undone. Evenings are usually when I phone the girls. Not today. It’s a long weekend, so they’ll have gone. I’ll take a walk instead, then lock the door. It’s said that most can’t quite get past the step, but you never know what spirits lurk beyond. Mother used to say as we get older, we take after our children more and more. I’m not so sure. My second one is braver, asks, every year, why I would bother. My first won’t even come close to our altar – she’s found something better to explain what we’re for, where we go to when we go. Where else but here? That’s what I’d like to know. It was I who taught her to ask such questions. With age, these are the things that start to show.

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