When my uncle packed his family and migrated, I hadn't
grown old enough to barter political views with him.
Perhaps money was also one of the reasons for setting up
his private clinic in an Adelaide suburb. I still remember
clowning with my cousins in their big house on Sixth Avenue
when we were much younger - they must have all acquired
an accent by now. And they grow fruits, I hear,
that we can only buy in supermarkets here.
The youngest cousin, born there, speaks no Hakka -
I do not know how he manages to communicate
with his grandmother during her yearly visits.
She probably spreads her love by brewing authentic dishes
and on rightful occasions might hold his hands the way
my grandmother once held mine, often with a silence
already understood within our dialect's unbroken music.