Her fingers cracked and bleeding, Lead glued under brow, under hum, And below the sweet Tian He smog, So rests my grandmother. Sheβs gently handing out hope, Even more, stale and day old bread,
Hidden βneath twitch, βtwixt grief; Abandoned were the meals, the bed, And bath, so that the others may eat. Itβs in the shadows I shuffle, dependent, With a paper-bag to my left and Other, my better, to the right,
Whilst we wish the silent skeleton, Pale and fervent, my grandmother, Some peace, some bread, two smiles, And but one star, if only one For her to wish upon, and one more, If only to grant her ample and every desire.