Beneath the stone arch, graying women dancein unison—they sway their hips, step right, flutterarms outward like butterfly wings, hands cuppedskyward as if to receive a benediction. The womanin the center—the tall one—wears a red sweater,white cropped pants, butter yellow visor tiedwith a ribbon over short permed curls. Above her,carved in stone: 和喜园—peace joy garden.For a moment, I am winded. Back turned, she looks—they look—like an idea I once had of my mother.She wears something like this in a photo from long ago,in another city by another sea that wouldn’t behome. In the photo, she is younger than me, stillnew to this country—I am nowhere, stardust yetto settle. In the photo, she sits on a pier, right leg crossedover the other—she smiles wide, leftof the camera, eyes crinkled behind plastic sunglasses.In…
