Christina Tang-Bernas
1. THE DISPATCHremember
we arrange soft white bao on a small plate and we bow before it, three times. my sister exclaims when we discover a bite missing, Grandmother has eaten our offering, and we laugh, sing songs arranged around the chilled newly-cleaned gravestone as if we too are bao, asking for Grandmother to consume our love as well. numbers dialed into a black rotary phone in a white booth in a hilltop garden in Otsuchi, or down a gravel road in Marshall, North Carolina, calling the wind, calling our loves to tell them of a new child or job, I miss you, I miss you, can you hear me? I wish you were here, a verbal postcard sent aloft on passing particles of air, no reply expected, only the need to speak, tug on the invisible connections still wrapped around us. gifts placed on the ofrenda, swathed in marigolds, candy sugar skulls melting on our tongues, pan de muerto essence offered for the long journey back to Earth. a blue butterfly lands on your shoulder, mother loved butterflies you say, hello mother, goodbye mother, you throw the words after it as it flutters away. candle lit in a Catholic church on the anniversary of when you slipped through our fingers, flame burning brighter from the air whisping from prayer-laden lips. letters creased and uncreased until the paper fibers feather, diaries, scrying half-finished scribbled notes for meaning, the essence of a person who can no longer answer. fingers placed on a Ouiji board, are you here with us? speak to us, tell me what you didn’t, couldn’t, forgot to when you were with us. she hefts a large ceramic bowl onto the scarred wooden table, this was their favorite dish, and we chew and swallow and tell stories, remember when? I haven’t forgotten, will never forget you, and when it is my turn, when I too am lost, let me not be adrift afar, remember me, reach for me and remember.
2. BUREAU INVENTORYConvertible standing desk
Laptop (with too many browser tabs open) + monitor set-up
Datebook, if it's not written down, I will not remember it
Phone holder, a gift from my husband
My cat, Mia, whenever she can get away with it
So many pens, half of them dry, one of them red for my copyediting work
Post-it notes, see #3
Old-school calculator
Pile of my kid's artwork/schoolwork waiting to be organized
Blue mug, a gift from my mom, full of water, tea, or hot cocoa
3. BIOGRAPHYChristina Tang-Bernas lives in Southern California with her family. Her work has appeared in Coffee+Crumbs, Native Skin, and Brevity Magazine, among others. When she isn’t writing, she engages a different part of her literary brain by copyediting manuscripts. Find out more at http://www.christinatangbernas.com.