Simple and countrified as she has always been,
my aunt returns to attend my daughter's wedding.
If she didn't come, she wouldn't have been happy
and yet, being here, she worries that her brown farmer clothing is inadequate.

She wobbles carrying her gift of rice on her side.
Her gait is like my mother's used to be so long ago.
The carpet is soft, and she moves unsteadily
as if she is wading through a pond to climb onto its bank.

My grandma wore the headscarf of a hardworking laborer.
She passed it down to my mother, and now my aunt wears it.
As my aunt stands before the altar of my ancestors where the incense smoke swirls,
I hear my mother calling softly for me.

Oh Auntie, don't be so sad!
On such a happy day, why these tears?