Message: I want to know more about my grandma but she rarely talks of her life when she was younger

Waipo left Chengdu for a louder street at 19—let’s imagine the red cloth was meant to be a wedding dress. Say she was an opera singer. What if a festival is just another way of praying what if you let the incense burn long enough will the ashes fold themselves. In truth I am in someone’s courtyard having my hair tied into knots. Waipo is a tea-house singer using her fingers to trace my name what if she’s holding a hot kettle does that count as warning. Say she was never a singer. In the photograph her blouse is pale jade what if the thing in her hand trembles like a blade. If I say I too am a singer carrying a question will the braids always end with silk ribbons. Say there is a stray dog and it is biting my heels. The dress was once layered and if you pulled too hard the seams split like lotus petals. What happens if you hold it against the sun. Say she was a singer with a voice that cracked like porcelain. If Waipo hummed to me and I was wearing hand-stitched shoes does that mean I am already in love with her voice. What if I say I am still here hoping you could return and tell me your life so I can understand mine. Say knowing how to float in a river is in my blood. I once dreamed I sat on her lap playing with wooden puzzles someone in the room was sewing and my mother was softly singing. Folding paper cranes is quick to learn but never perfect so maybe I don’t have love I am it. Say she’s a singer but cannot bow low enough. The stillness of photographs is how they don’t forgive so you can’t apologize if no one remembers how. She once told me music is the only way to soften rice. I like how the word má sounds in her mouth it’s warm like ginger broth like drinking sweet osmanthus tea with all the petals. Say a part of me is always pretending. The smell of steamed buns is like a snapshot and Waipo’s face is already slipping out of frame. Say twirling is how you rid the body of storms. Say the dress was a tiny silver pin say she wore it on her way to the market. The beautiful thing about shadows is how they never accuse so when you fold your fingers outside the balcony you’ll watch how she misplaces your name. Say Waipo was 59. If she does not answer imagine she is in a dress and it is red and everyone in the room is singing. Say she is whispering and her hand is on your cheek. Say emptiness is just another kind of question. If I say she is wearing a blue silk scarf in the photo would anything truly change.