Marigold Kintsugi

Palms greet earth in a familiar embrace before wrapping green fingers around root and stem. They succumb to her touch, tired heads falling upon the silt bed as she pinches off their inevitable end.

Marigolds stop cherry aphids in their tracks, Mina. When spring warms the soil and the sea breeze kisses your cheek, plant these seeds alongside chamomile. And remember poppies for the bees.

Her father’s calloused paw engulfed hers with tiny paintbrushes patiently waiting to colour in the season with change. He'd leave her with a cornflower wink before slowly turning curved shoulders heavy with fatigue to join the old wicker chair overlooking the sea.

It's empty now, the chair stained with mould and rust running from joints nailed together in haste.

Will you bring it with us, or should it take a swim? Max teases her about the old chair, offering to sand it and give it a lick of paint. He shakes his peppered beard in jest at her firm resistance, heading inside to make a cup of marigold tea from last year’s reaping.

Mina looks down at the bursts of ocherous and red pom-poms encircling the cherry trunk. Four seasons passed since flame transformed his body into ash laid to rest in the Kintsugi vessel he’d found one afternoon.

Keep me here. It reminds me of you, the flowers of marigold. Keep me warm by the fire until it’s time to go, then plant me under the cherry tree to become my new home.

She argued with him. Pleading with him. Begging him.

No, Dad. Let me take you with us, they’ll destroy the cherry tree with the house. You’ll end up under the treatment plant or whatever it is they’ll do with the land. Is that what you really want?

He turned to his little black book, sprinkling final thoughts on its oatmeal pages before walking upstairs to link arms with the pills that guided him into a painless sleep.

I won’t be here to see it, Mina. And by then, the roots will have carried me to the sea. I want to be here, with your Mother.

She takes one of the marigold heads to her nose, inhaling its pungent reminder of sifting sand and silt.

There’s always more than meets the eye. It’s not just one flower. It’s a constellation of red stars. See?

Mina looks at the luminous spheroids ablaze beneath the cherry tree, the sea breeze shaking shell-pink and buttermilk confetti from its branches to fall at her feet. They said she could have the cherry wood when they cut it down, a small souvenir to say, we were here. The ground threatens to pull her towards its heaving chest. Don't go.

Will you watch them do it? Max asked last night in the kitchen, his head ducking beneath the old ceiling, feet pushing boxes aside to reach her cobalt depths.

No, it’ll hurt too much.

Want me to help you tomorrow?

No, I need to do it on my own.

Can I do anything?

She shook her head briskly before picking up the brewed tea and walking to the front porch to settle into the wicker chair and watch the inevitable tide.

It was something to do with the land, they said before handing over the notice. It was something to do with the title, they said before shaking their heads. It was something to do with eminent domain and the constitution and nothing to do with her or her father as he battled for his life.

We’ll compensate you for your house, the suit said before revving the engine.

They’ll compensate you for your land, the judge said before the gavel pummelled her numb.

I’ll come back and haunt you if you try to appeal, joked her father before shaking his head in exasperation.

You still owe us for trying, the lawyer said with tight lips before handing over the envelope.

But I cou... I couldn’t not try. Max took her frozen frame and bundled her upstairs to bed, wrapping her hands around another cup of tea and taking away the invoice tucked in her pocket. Tiny paintbrush shaped petals settled at the bottom of the cup dotted with miniature daffodils, their trumpeting beaks guiding her to sleep.

You should have woken me up! Bleary-eyed she stumbled down the stairs to stare at boxes being taken in and out of the weathered house overlooking the crystallised shore.

You looked like an angel, darling. And... and you need all your energy for today. I can stay if you...

She shrugs him off with a quick kiss and tugs the robe closer around shoulders. She’d awaken with a start, dreaming of orange marigolds painted on white skulls and skeletons growing beneath cherry trees.

You could always just... bring him with us anyway on the plane? It’s not like he’ll know.

He’ll know, Max. And he knows you said that.

She gives him a wry smile before sidestepping the worker clad in overalls and gloves collecting memories stuffed into boxes for the long trek across country to Max's apartment to meet them long after their plane touches down.

I’ll be in the shower.

Dad, you’ve been in there for ages! Steam billowed from beneath the door as she pounded on its unmoving frame. Dad, are you ok?

Mina placed her ear against the wood, chest beating harder from the silence. She turned the handle again in vain. How long had he been in there? Pulling her phone from her pocket, she dialled Max.

I’m nearly at the restaurant now, he said. Do you want an extra sauce for the pizza?

It’s Dad, he’s in the bathroom and isn’t responding.

What? Ok. I’m coming. Call 9-1-1.

They arrived at the same time, his hands taking hers as they guided her away from the door, axe slicing through the wood to reach the empty vessel whose soul slipped quietly to sea with the shower water.

They carried him wrapped in grey away from the home built by twice removed hands.

Stop! Wait! Not yet!

She ran over to him, to her fallen father, lifting the grey blanket from his face for a final parting with the roots tied to hers.

Why do you want to be cremated with marigolds, Dad?

They guide the spirit during the Day of the Dead. They’ll guide mine to rest, too.

I wonder what burnt flowers smell like? She gathers them in the canvas bag Max gave her before flipping open the little black book found next to her father’s bedside with a note addressed to: My Mina.

Fragments of her father drift from the page towards her, his voice looping and curving in his familiar scrawl.

What’re you working on, Dad? She asked one afternoon, bending over his shrinking frame.

You’ll see soon, Mina.

Soon?

My Mina, take me my final resting place. Put me to sleep amongst the cherry tree so I can reach the sea. Revisit me from time to time in these pages. Carry me close, and when you miss me, look at the sea and you'll see me waving. Before you go, break me into a million little pieces and let the gold flow.

Let the gold flow? She reread the last line and shook her head at his nonsensical request. Why break the Kintsugi? Surely it’s bad luck to undo the golden joinery?

Shaking her head again, she picked up the small gardening shovel and began digging until she reached the root of the cherry tree planted by her great-grandfather.

Scratching a rock with a match, she lit the dried sage brought for the occasion and sent a silent prayer to her father and their ancestors before opening the vessel and laying him down to rest with the great Mother who would rock him into the eternal sleep.

Let the gold flow... taking the rock, she looked at the empty vessel and sent a silent request for forgiveness to the person who so painstakingly put it back together again. Rivers of gold flowed around her.

What’s that? Amongst the fragments, there was a piece of paper sticking out of its base.

Gently pulling the paper out, her eyes widened from the unexpected final gift from her father.

Let the gold flow.

She started laughing, quietly at first until it echoed off the sides of the house and around the garden walls and towards the sea where her father waved and sent a final cornflower blue wink with the hidden check for twenty-thousand dollars to cover her attempt at saving their home.

When the laughter washed away and she wiped salt from her cheek with green fingers stained brown, she carefully placed the broken ceramic pieces in the ground and covered her father with a bittersweet kiss, slivers of gold and burnt marigolds before turning to say a final farewell to the cherry tree and their home by the sea.