The speaker lives in an old, run-down family house that stands like an oasis amid a city of concrete. When others ask, a little pityingly, whether he is "still" there, he answers with quiet pride. For him the house is not decayed at all, because his dead relatives still live in it.
They return as birds and animals. His father is a squirrel hopping down from a coconut frond to nibble leftover rice, his mother a bossy crow pushing the squirrel aside, and his grandmother an owl-like presence who hoots at dusk and mutters curses at her "impractical dreamer" of a grandson. The curses sound more affectionate than harsh, a familiar bit of family grumbling.
The mood is warm, humorous and gently wistful. Grief becomes company, and the speaker seems comforted rather than haunted. The ending turns playful and tender: he spots a jay and asks who it might be, as though one more relative has dropped by.