Like this, Kazi, one strand over another. She leaned over me. Let’s weave a wish stalk in too. Do wishes really come true, Mama? Of course they do. Make a wish now, Kazi, one for tomorrow, the next day, and the next. One will always come true. I tied off the grass, shaping it into a crown, and laid it on her grave. “I wish you rest, Mama.” When Jase came back with the brush and dye, I marked her gravestone. Mama My chiadrah My beloved
