I wrote this poem for my grandfather, and shared it with family and friends this past weekend. Well it’s the New Year, and I think I should start filling up my new notebook.
He sits in the darkness
I watch as the tv screen eats him alive minute by minute
His dirty worn oversized, borrowed jacket hide his small delicate frame
I cannot see his hands or outline of his body anymore
I watch again as this mysterious man paces back and forth
He smiles with his dark face and opens his toothless mouth
I know he was a paper son and did what had to be done
An immigrant who traveled across the sea
Gold Mountain did not shine brightly in his eyes
Exhaustion, frustration, complications, disillusions paralleled from China to the land of the free home of the brave
Who is this man I know, and don’t know?
He is a part of me, and I am a part of him
Yet we both know nothing of each other beside our names
Should I feel shame? Is he to blame?
After I walk into his world, my life will never be the same
Walk the walk, talk the talk I tell him
He then tells me, whatever will be will be
Life is life, you are you, and I am me, and here we stand
The door is open
We shall enter innocently
And we will leave disturbed.