The Dead Girl

The dead girl sits on the stairs

with mud between her toes.

There are no stairs.

She asks why the kitchen is gone.

I tell her they drowned the village.

She looks past me

to the old woman at the fence,

white hair pinned at the nape,

one hand shaking above her cane.

Who is that?

Your sister.

She frowns.

Ruth is six.

At the fence,

my grandmother is crying so hard

she has forgotten to wave.