Nainai said she killed people in this house
Two of her own children,
One was missing a scoop of porridge in his bowl,
One was missing a layer of cotton in his jacket.
They said: “Ma, when we grow up we will build you a big big house,”
“Everyone has their own room” “and two extra rooms”
“Filled with golden manto” “And swan-feather blankets!”
“And peanuts!”
Nainai said she killed people in this house,
Her own father,
Who one night swallowed twenty extra sleeping pills,
Laid still.
He said: “When you found your love I’ll build you a big new house,
I live in this one, across the street.
So when I make something good, you can get a bowl before it gets cold.”
Nainai said she killed people in this house,
Her own husband,
Who had personality of flame–selfless, no fear.
He stepped out of the door in his neatly ironed uniform, his back to her.
So far, so near.
He said “The country is a big house, it is my duty, my purpose,
To guard when enemy arise! I promise,
When the country is secured, I will return, and I will never leave your side.”
Nainai said she killed people in this house,
Herself,
The survivor of the chaos, but her soul defeated.
In her hollow shell she had to face the samely hollow,
Collapsing house, unchanged.
She said: “Yujia, next year when you come back to me.
I’ll teach you to build a house.”