The Little Girl at the Burial Ground

At my ancestor’s burial ground at dawn
I saw a little girl running about
She was barely three years old
Thought her eyes showed premature maturity

She looked at me with steady eyes
As if there’s no question, no mystery
As if she’d seen me a hundred times before
Paying respects to my ancestors

I know she’d never seen me before
For I haven’t been back for too long
But I can tell she’d been around
other visitors to the burial ground

The little girl with dirty ribbed clothes
Squatting down a few steps from me
As I took out my offerings
She couldn’t help but stare at them

When I went about doing my ritual
She went about to do hers as well
Pulling flowers, weed and leaves
Sniffing them and pulled some more

I sat before the gray gravestone
With the girl as my only company
Even though nothing’s said between us
I was glad that she was there that day

As the sun went up and shone on us
I noticed her weather-battered skin
That framed her big inquisitive eyes
Which looked more and more often at my offerings

Perhaps while I thought about the past
She was thinking about the future
About the near future in which I’m gone
And she can freely eat the oranges

I took my time and she continued to wait
Patiently till I was ready to take my leave
I packed my stuff but left the oranges
Right on the offering table

I left it not for my ancestors’ spirit
But for the little girl in dirty ribbed clothes
Who had accompanied me that morning
And waited for the oranges

26 Mar 06