Classic Poem

Behind grandmother's house is the verandah, dark as mulberry-wood and big as two sheets of floor paper. Verandah polished, it was said, by grandmother's hands and the hands of her daughters, so there must remain many signs of the youthful touch of my own mother's hands. By now though that floor has been polished so often, the marks of so many hands have been worn away to a gleaming mirror, a mirror reflecting my young face. It happens on a day when mother is so mad, scolding me till I have no place to go, I find this verandah, mirror of time and touch. I catch my breath, and eat the healthful fruit grandmother picks and gives me from the mulberry out by the sauce-crock terrace. Even mother cannot bring her scolding back here, to this verandah where my face and grandmother's are reflected side by side.