Chrysogonus #18 - Qing Ming, 1992

Qing Ming, 1992

a grand headstone, cold marble

I sat down there, insignificant

before a lifeless thing

the name plate

engraved with three characters

I could not understand, the name

I never knew, my great grandfather

we came to visit, we came to pray

in the day of Qing Ming – tomb sweeping day

next to it, wild flowers and tall grass

uprooted from the land, thrown

in frenzy, floating mid air

before touching the dirt, dead

in the scythe of an old lady

my father paid to clean

the grave, her daily job

we came to visit, we came to clean

to drink for a while before our next step

the area was clearer, the opening

a small headstone stood

humble, not from marble

short, closer

to the brown earth, as if playing

hide and seek behind the wild

grass and flowers, nameless there

but not in my childish brain, my brother

we came to visit, we came to clean

their last beds under the warm earth

first stick of incense, grandfather put it

for his father in-law, remembering

the past lives he couldn’t recover

second stick of incense, father put it

for his late son, remembering

the future he could have had

but he remained in the past

we came to visit, we came to remember

things missing in our lives