Has this always been our family’s fate? To begin together in a few years of happiness only to break into so many shards? Reaching out my hand in the dark again, I hold my sister’s wrist. This wrist– this small meeting of bone and skin. It is made of our mother and father, their bones, their skin. When I hold my sister’s wrist, I hold the echo of their wrists. My hand travels up Tenkyi’s cool, damp arm, her flesh filling up my palm and fingers. This too is theirs. Although I no longer have their faces, at any time, I can squeeze this arm. I can kiss these cheeks. I can smell this hair. And by caring for my sister, I can keep caring for my parents. No force, no person can take this from me. It is as simple as that.
From We Measure the Earth with Our Bodies (2)