Tomb Sweeping Day

The mountain rolls under tomb over tomb
Twisting the staircases built upon
The bowed backs of devotion

Sky and sea are draped in grey
Joss sticks burn themselves into the air
Smoke whorling up to join the clouds

A hush has settled upon this earth
Everything holds its breath 
On the day of the dead

We kneel, offering ribbons and flowers
Lifting the veil of time
To polish stone back to memory

Father bows first at the headstone;
he fears to be disobeyed
by his selfish children

Father prays for prosperity and longevity;
he fears to be forgotten
by his disobedient children

I cannot picture your face
nor summon you with the words
of your secret tongue 

But still we are here,
knees pressed to grass and foreheads chilled by stone
our fingertips tracing the ridges of your ancient names

And still you are here,
drinking wine and tasting sweet cakes
from the palms of our memories