i light the candles, per usual, watch
the flame kiss the wick, flinch and shudder.
my mother places කිරිබත් 1 and the
snow rose on the table, turns the plate
to visually appeal, not that බුද්ධ2 would
care. and every time, there’s a moment
of hesitation as i look at her before
prayer; i smile, she smiles, and we
turn to pray in silence. i think empty;
i’ve forgotten all the chants i
once knew verbatim. i’ve forgotten
how to pray; i know බුද්ධ2 would not
have wanted to be treated like a god
anyway, so instead i wish for goodwill on
those who deserve it, since i remember
something about karma. i’m thinking
of yesterday, over shu mai, how i told
my mother i don’t want religion, found
futility in believing in something you
couldn’t prove. but i pray with her in
silence anyway, knowing it is likely the
little bit of peace in tradition, in sake of
religion, she holds on to, and i
would hate if my daughter
lost that, too.
1 “කිරිබත්” = milk rice [Sinhala]
2 “බුද්ධ” = Buddha [Sinhala]