Gong Gong

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.


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