Standing still, in the midst of rows
of smooth gray stones jutting out from the ground,
I watch my grandfather begin to pray.
A bouquet of white and pink flowers rests gently on the grave,
surrounded by a simple meal -
eight fresh oranges, bowls of white sticky rice,
and a platter of crispy pork
accompanied with a small teacup of wine.
The two parallel sticks of incense slowly burn away,
forming an overwhelming aroma with the smoke
from the remains of the charred Joss paper,
some shimmering gold still visible.
The smoke slowly drifts away
with the gentle breeze of the April day.
I kneel and offer my respects.