My Grandmother’s Math

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Abstract

She would dispense change with firecracker audacity| Confident in her mathematical prowess The men often asked, “Mrs. Fong, how do you do math so fast?”My grandmother’s mind is sharp as a sewing needle. For not having finished high school, for Barely knowing how to read when she came to Hong Kong. But she could look at a lady’s sweater on the subway And know immediately how to knit it The intricate over-unders of the yarn, The number of rows for each arm. She calculated this with frenetic energy — It is simple geometry And yet, something most of us cannot do.When my grandmother plays mahjong, She says she’s not counting cards but I don’t think she even knows that she’s doing it. The probability of the next tile being a ‘white slate’ or The proximity of her next victory. Six

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ty some years of winning, though, means She’s doing something right.But my grandmother cannot comprehend this coronavirus. She refused to wear a mask, saying it was difficult to breathe She couldn’t correlate hand-washing with A life-saving measure. She doesn’t know why we’ve all abandoned her and No one comes over to play mahjong anymore.By My grandmother’s math It doesn’t add up How a tiny germ could cause all this chaos This coronavirus does not computeCoins, sweaters, ivory tiles are tactile, visible In her soft, smooth hands mathematics is an abacus of structure and control. Virology, on the other hand, biology Is as unpredictable as it gets, it’s tendency towards entropy Contradicting her every sensibility.-c.f.fong</article></body>

My Grandmother’s Math

My grandmother ran a cigarette shop For over thirty years. By shop, I mean a cardboard box On top of a rolling cart. In the dark before dawn, she Positioned herself between two dim sum restaurants And waited for the morning rush of coolies, Lowly laborers, Done with their tea Ready to grab their daily dose of smokes and Cotton gloves Before heading to work. They unloaded their nickels and pence into her waiting palm (she always prided herself on the beauty of her hands: the long, pale fingers; the shapely fingernails. She would dispense change with firecracker audacity| Confident in her mathematical prowess The men often asked, “Mrs. Fong, how do you do math so fast?”

My grandmother’s mind is sharp as a sewing needle. For not having finished high school, for Barely knowing how to read when she came to Hong Kong. But she could look at a lady’s sweater on the subway And know immediately how to knit it The intricate over-unders of the yarn, The number of rows for each arm. She calculated this with frenetic energy — It is simple geometry And yet, something most of us cannot do.

When my grandmother plays mahjong, She says she’s not counting cards but I don’t think she even knows that she’s doing it. The probability of the next tile being a ‘white slate’ or The proximity of her next victory. Sixty some years of winning, though, means She’s doing something right.

But my grandmother cannot comprehend this coronavirus. She refused to wear a mask, saying it was difficult to breathe She couldn’t correlate hand-washing with A life-saving measure. She doesn’t know why we’ve all abandoned her and No one comes over to play mahjong anymore.

By My grandmother’s math It doesn’t add up How a tiny germ could cause all this chaos This coronavirus does not compute

Coins, sweaters, ivory tiles are tactile, visible In her soft, smooth hands mathematics is an abacus of structure and control. Virology, on the other hand, biology Is as unpredictable as it gets, it’s tendency towards entropy Contradicting her every sensibility.

-c.f.fong