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by Winnie Chau
I have a granddaughter.
She was absent
from the first day.
Of course. I forgot
the bunny she couldn't find
in her schoolbag.
I have a granddaughter.
She was neat,
too neat.
I wasn't able to touch her
things on her writing
desk full of eraser bits.
I have a granddaughter.
She was always
reading with her nose, talking
with her pupils. Sometimes spared
me a few glances and silenced
my squalls.
I have a granddaughter.
She was hidden
in the tracks of Andy Lau
whom I used to like
without reason. She smiled, I saw
some tears in the songs.
I have a granddaughter.
She was scared.
There's a ghost in her
bed, she said. 'Can I
sleep with you tonight?'
Nonsense! I turned off the light.
I have a granddaughter.
She was pretty.
Did I tell her? Maybe,
I was afraid. One day,
she refused to eat.
'Grandma, I'm ugly.'
I have a granddaughter.
She wasn't loved.
They left
her diary open. It read
I miss you but
I won't tell.
I have a granddaughter.
She couldn't love. She didn't
know. I followed her
to school. There was a boy
at the corridor she avoided.
'Go on, young girl.'
She won't hear me. She thinks
love is shame.
I have a granddaughter.
She is not here. |