Incense

That year, Qingming landed on Easter.

The Son and Moon must have

coordinated their calendars

for everyone’s convenience.

That day, Mary went with

Other Mary to see Him,

but He was gone.

The incense fell, and ceramic pieces

scattered into shards.

Imagine knowing

that the person you loved

was alive

and that you could run and find them.

That year, there were no graves to sweep,

no oranges to put on the altar,

and no swirl of sweet incense smoke

to suffocate you.

There were only empty frames

of relatives you would have loved

if you had existed in that world.

That day, death gave you a new life,

but a different demise.

Your incense

shattered lost memories,

into broken fragments

and pierced you deeply.

And out spilled an enduring,

pungent odor

that poured over the ghostly

tombs of lost ancestors,

leaving you with the remnants.

Anna Snader