newton said that energy is neither
created nor destroyed. in her favorite
restaurant, i can still hear my grandmother
gossiping with the waitresses — she used to
come so often, they fed her free of charge —
electricity sparking in her eyes; in her old
apartment, i can hear her slippers
shuffling to the kitchen — my mother bit her
lip to refrain from scolding her — and the
tapping of finger pads against ceramic mugs; in
the hospital, i hear her rustling in her paper
gown — even in her prolonged exhaustion, she
never cared for the hospital robes much — and
scoffing at the forest of needles embedded in her
forearm. when i listen to the wind, i can still hear the
symphonies of a thousand years playing her to sleep.