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Grandmother was smaller

than me at eight. Had she

been child forever?

Helpless, hopeless, chin sharp

as a knuckle, fan face

hardly half-opened, not a scrap

of fat anywhere; she tottered

in black silk, leaning on

handmaids on two tortured

fins. At sixty, his sons all

married, grandfather bought her

Soochow flower song bird.

every bone in her feet

Had been broken, bound tighter

Than any neighbor's sweet

daughter's. ten toes and instep

curled inwards, yellow petals

of chrysanthemum, wrapped

in gold cloth. He bought the young

face, small knobby breast

he swore he'd not dress in sarong

of maternity. Each night

he held her feet in his palms

like lotus in the tight

hollow of celestial lakes.

In his calloused flesh, her

Weightless soles, cool and slack,

Clenched in his stranger's fever.

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13y ago

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