She was born in the year of the Ox
when the ground was hard and nothing
grew except for vines and bittermelon
From a yellowing photograph a child
stared back clutching a false bouquet
lifted from an empty can of milk powder
She was born in a year when photographs
were no longer taken from behind a velvet drape
Instead a man held a flash above his head
and counted or counted over
When called upon in school she hung her head
or looked at her shoes while reciting the times table
One could stretch the coils of telephone wire
just like the tendrils of certain green vegetables
In the ground there are still so many
homely but unkillable things
Coal and potatoes quartz and raw ore