Crossing the Black Current

My grandparents had shrines for their parents, black and white faces staring out beside smiling Gods.

Down the street, during Hungry Ghost festival, we kids stole the food meant for ancestors.

In Japan, they say, Obon yearns to bridge worlds, fighting the Black Current's ancient barrier with pine smoke and drum beats.

With watermelon offerings, chrysanthemum-shaped rice wafers, and lantern light.

For three nights, ancestors dance with their children's children, until even the most reluctant souls must be sent to sea.