epitaph to lost times

epitaph to lost times

hear the smiles

in the applause,

passed from hand to hand,

but no one can conjure 

the mothball fragrance

of amber afternoons 

with lǎolao¹, 

our palms singing

to the rhythm

of patty-cake--

the edges of memory

like so many 

photo corners

curling out of reach.

the air conditioner 

shuddered--

my thighs dimpling

indignantly, 

sore from sitting 

on toddler-sized footstools,

mugs of suān jiǎo zhī ²

sweating by our feet.

tasting salt on my lips

I watched

your wrinkles

blossom like flowers

by the river--

so give me an encore,

a standing ovation,

bring me back

to our tempo,

your steady hands

keeping us in time.

___________________

¹ maternal grandmother

² tamarind juice