Author: Tamiko Bronson

“How will they find us, Grandma?”

She smiled, pulling her paintbrush across each rice paper lantern. Velvet black ink seeped into the fibers, revealing names:

Tsuneo.
Kazuko.
Satoshi.

Our ancestors.

“Come, Kana-chan.”

We carried the lanterns to the garden. One by one, we lined the path.

“The lights will guide them.”

I slipped my hand into hers, resting my cheek against her cool, soft arm. Cicadas sang, inviting the late summer twilight. Evening dew perfumed the air. Like every year at Obon, we waited, ready to welcome our ancestor’s spirits home.

That was in the old times before stars rained down and clouds blackened the sun. We fled to the caves, but they could not protect us. Our planet poisoned, cicadas silenced, we sought refuge beyond the skies.

“Kana-chan, hurry. Board the starship.”

Grandma urged me forward.

“Can’t you come?”

“Later.”

“How will you find me?”

Lips smiling, eyes glistening, she slipped her hand into mine.

“The lights will guide me home.”

The final call echoed across the platform. A soldier pried us apart and ushered me up the boarding ramp.

Shaking my head, I bury these weathered memories once more. I gather lightpods and inscribe each with a name.
On the last:

Matsu, my grandma.

I arrange them in the habitat window, casting a faint glow on our new planet’s rocky terrain.

No garden path.
No late summer twilight.
No hand to hold.

Yet, like every year at Obon, I wait, ready to welcome my ancestor’s spirits home.