My aunt leads her blind husband
down a steep narrow path
guiding him solely with the
handle of the brand new broom
I avoid stepping on the other graves we
pass on our way down
into the structure with a blue-tiled roof
our family name embossed thickly in
flamboyant gold as though
airbrushed onto the dark marble
dust had settled everywhere
we come every year to clean up the
weeds threatening to colonize the grand yard
lanky red candles with broken backs are
unfaithful foot soldiers of this sacred place
when every speck of dust has been abolished
every weed and fallen leaf swept away
leaving the courtyard slightly less morose
(good spirits dwell in clean places, I hope)
my aunt lights the skinny incense sticks
I avoid breathing in the mysterious finger like
projections reaching upwards, upwards
to heavenly blue
My fingers feel incompetent
clasping an unknown god’s cigarette
There is a certain coldness
about the way my fingers are
positioned squeezing the sticks
hovering in mid air
I must be doing something wrong—
But I resist the urge to interlock my
clumsy fingers together
mountains colliding with a gentle
steadiness
Does this unknown god inhale
every confession every hope
every plea and heal
with his warm breath
I wanted to ask
The flames dancing to a
tune nobody hears remain
silent—but I am not a guard
watching over a mirage
of a castle— I think I will
keep on hoping that someone,
even fire, can ferry our
wishes across.
Vanessa is a high school senior who is a Social Media & Marketing editor and staff reporter at her school newspaper. She can also be found jumping and spinning (and falling) on ice in her free time.