"The old woman is scurrying around aimlessly."

Báo Thừa Thiên Huế•04/06/2023

This small book of poems, with its striking yellow roses against a blue cover, is a precious gift she received from the venerable monk, Minh Duc Trieu Tam Anh, of Huyen Khong Son Thuong Temple. Many times, whenever she missed her mother, she would open this book, reread the short poems by her teacher, and find great comfort in her longing.

"I want to tell you, Mom / Just one small word / One word that's enough / I love you / Mom" (To Mom)

For her, from childhood to adulthood, she only had her mother. From a bowl of rice, a glass of water, from hugs and comforting touches, from clothes and trousers, from advice and teachings, her mother provided everything. Her mother held her close until... the very last day she passed away.

Therefore, everything reminds her of her mother. She remembers every dish she eats, because it's the dish her mother used to cook for the whole family and taught her how to cook. When she goes to the market, she remembers her mother's advice. Her mother taught her how to choose goods, how to buy things, and how not to haggle with sellers, especially the elderly women. "Buy what you can, buy quickly and easily; that's a kind way to 'give,' my child." The other day, she went to the market and bought a piece of star gourd from an old woman selling it on the sidewalk. Since her family doesn't eat much, she asked the old woman to cut less, but the price remained the same. The old woman smiled with joy that seemed to fly from her heart: "My child, buying like this is even better than receiving money. I prefer selling goods to receiving money." The old woman's words made her miss her mother even more.

For some reason, ever since her mother passed away, whenever she went to the market and saw an old woman with gray hair, she felt as if she saw her mother there. Her mother would always seek out the stalls of the elderly women, chatting before and after buying, laughing heartily with them like close friends. She remembered one day her mother came home and said, "I haven't seen Mrs. Th at the market these past few days, I wonder if she's sick." There were also times her mother was emotional: "I haven't been to the market for a few days, but today when I went, everyone asked about me. Mrs. B., who sells Phong Lai cigarettes, even said she was planning to visit, worried I might be sick and that's why I couldn't go to the market." For the elderly, going to the market, buying and selling, and money are no longer the most important things; the atmosphere of the market, the comings and goings of people, the greetings and inquiries—that's what brings the most joy. Her mother felt the same way when she went to the market.

Now, when she goes to the market, she also seeks out the elderly women, and she realizes there are two types of elderly women who sell goods there. The first type are those who "sell for fun," so they only go out once a week or ten days. These are the women who "scavenge" for vegetables and roots in their gardens, selling them to earn a little extra money for food, buying snacks for their grandchildren, and most importantly, to save money. They feel it's a "wrong to let the vegetables wither in the garden," and they go out to sell for companionship. The second type of elderly woman selling goods looks more worn out; the rain and sun are etched on their skin, in their eyes, and on their hands. Their smiles also show a lot of resignation; they lack the carefree demeanor, and their selling is heavily focused on making a living.

These old ladies sell their goods all week, all month, "professionally." When their own garden produce runs out, they buy from gardens in the neighborhood or village. A bunch of wild greens, a papaya, a dozen chicken eggs, chili peppers, tomatoes—big, small, crooked, not all the same size—but they're all labeled "home garden," delicious when cooked, and if they don't finish it all in one day, they can still be kept for the next. Watching these old ladies selling their wares, the women at the market often tell each other to buy quickly so they can go home and rest, and as for the price, they just say, "Give me the money, and I'll sell it"...

She knew that many elderly women had to hide their activities from their children and grandchildren to go to the market to sell goods. Some even confided honestly: "Seeing my children and grandchildren struggling, I'm idle all day at home, so I go to the market to buy and sell, to earn a little extra money to help them." Oh, the hearts and souls of these mothers are boundless.

“Carefully nurtured / The chili peppers and eggplants / The sweet potato fields and cassava plantations / Raised us to adulthood...” (Heart). Now I understand a little more why Venerable Minh Duc Trieu Tam Anh named this poem “heart,” just that single word reveals the vast, flowing stream of a mother's love.

She often reminisced about her mother in this way, from the ferry market to the food, from the images of the old women she met in her life, met at the market, from the white reeds like her mother's hair, from the sunset, from the slanted sunlight on the veranda, and from the many mothers of her friends and colleagues. It wasn't just one "Mother's Day," but a lifetime of her mother. She closed the poetry book "The Rose at the Buddha's Gate," feeling her heart soften in the overflowing fragrance.

"A mother's love / A wondrous fragrance / Fragrant / Overflowing with the vast ocean of life" (Fragrance)

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