Every kowtow
Awakes the Ancestors
Who are watching us
Invisibly like the currents
Causing the sandalwood incense
To curl and disappear.

Causing one’s Ancestors
To feel shame
Ranks as the one prohibition
That supersedes all others.

This was planted
Every memorial day
When we visited
The family graves
To leave offerings
Of food and flowers
And to kowtow
Three times.

I confess,
About my ancestors,
I know very little
But, they have been watching
For so long now,
They have come
To have some meaning
For me.