you said hello, i said i'm sorry
our first meeting.
I didn't know him. Or you.
but i held your hand at the buriel nonetheless.
family, in its absence.
makeshift and hesitant.
connection forged of necessity.
12,000 miles from home.
Later my husband would ask about you, how it went.
did i remember to explain his absence by way of inauspicious warnings and unlucky numbers and prayers
the absent mourner and I, the ambassador
im holding your hand again
your eyes are heavy with death
the machines beep and click
punctuates the silence that cloaks us in a heavy embrace
i imagine that you can feel my hands closed over yours
i imagine sneaking beneath your eyelids for candid conversations
i imagine the flow of history and love and blood between us
though we are not bound by blood, not in the strictest sense.
We weaved those blood lines years ago
in the days and moments and pauses that followed
sitting across the table, flipping tiles and clucking tongues,
throwing back tea like it was bourbon
gambling in the dignified way that Chinese people do
You had seen the world and been back again
middle aged, widowed and wearing it well
san francisco. new york. paris.
you understood this thing called the west
you wore it in your voice
booming fierce and full
oblivious to the mild looks of embarrassment from your muted company.
You were always apart.
Bigger and louder
boasting a kind of freedom we all feared but secretly envied.
Once, at a party
I caught you sitting alone, eyes closed with your head tilted towards the sun
"C'mon, let's play" you said, grabbing my hand to sit down. "Close your eyes, look up at the sun and think red. Till the spots go away. Think it as red as possible.
i closed my eyes self consciously and after a few prompts, kept them shut. Through my eyelids I saw red with speckles of black, strobes of white.
"C'mon," you said. "Think red"
The speckles and stripes cleared and the red beneath my eyelids grew deeper and darker
filled like wells and burned.
cancer is a funny thing
a disease composed of question marks
a no-fucking-clue-why malfunctioning body
a no-fucking-clue-how malfunctioning body
suddenly things are wrong and get more wrong
and can't seem to remember how to be right again
I had a dream about this moment years ago.
I dreamed we were both children, down by the river.
I was following you, I crept behind you and stationed myself downstream as you knelt by the river in tears.
"I'm sick," you screamed into the river.
"I'm sick," the river whispered to me.
"I'm sick, I'm sick, I'm sick"
It claimed him 20 years ago and now it's come back for you.
A hungry ghost.
I squeeze your hand again.
"i'll be back tomorrow," I say.
And I am. But you're not in bed.
The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers
I'm sorry.
She is prepared for a reaction but i swallow back the weight in my heart
Thank her and turn away.
on the way home I stop in a parking lot and empty myself
before turning the key,kissing my husband on the cheek and starting dinner.
our first meeting.
I didn't know him. Or you.
but i held your hand at the buriel nonetheless.
family, in its absence.
makeshift and hesitant.
connection forged of necessity.
12,000 miles from home.
Later my husband would ask about you, how it went.
did i remember to explain his absence by way of inauspicious warnings and unlucky numbers and prayers
the absent mourner and I, the ambassador
im holding your hand again
your eyes are heavy with death
the machines beep and click
punctuates the silence that cloaks us in a heavy embrace
i imagine that you can feel my hands closed over yours
i imagine sneaking beneath your eyelids for candid conversations
i imagine the flow of history and love and blood between us
though we are not bound by blood, not in the strictest sense.
We weaved those blood lines years ago
in the days and moments and pauses that followed
sitting across the table, flipping tiles and clucking tongues,
throwing back tea like it was bourbon
gambling in the dignified way that Chinese people do
You had seen the world and been back again
middle aged, widowed and wearing it well
san francisco. new york. paris.
you understood this thing called the west
you wore it in your voice
booming fierce and full
oblivious to the mild looks of embarrassment from your muted company.
You were always apart.
Bigger and louder
boasting a kind of freedom we all feared but secretly envied.
Once, at a party
I caught you sitting alone, eyes closed with your head tilted towards the sun
"C'mon, let's play" you said, grabbing my hand to sit down. "Close your eyes, look up at the sun and think red. Till the spots go away. Think it as red as possible.
i closed my eyes self consciously and after a few prompts, kept them shut. Through my eyelids I saw red with speckles of black, strobes of white.
"C'mon," you said. "Think red"
The speckles and stripes cleared and the red beneath my eyelids grew deeper and darker
filled like wells and burned.
cancer is a funny thing
a disease composed of question marks
a no-fucking-clue-why malfunctioning body
a no-fucking-clue-how malfunctioning body
suddenly things are wrong and get more wrong
and can't seem to remember how to be right again
I had a dream about this moment years ago.
I dreamed we were both children, down by the river.
I was following you, I crept behind you and stationed myself downstream as you knelt by the river in tears.
"I'm sick," you screamed into the river.
"I'm sick," the river whispered to me.
"I'm sick, I'm sick, I'm sick"
It claimed him 20 years ago and now it's come back for you.
A hungry ghost.
I squeeze your hand again.
"i'll be back tomorrow," I say.
And I am. But you're not in bed.
The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers
I'm sorry.
She is prepared for a reaction but i swallow back the weight in my heart
Thank her and turn away.
on the way home I stop in a parking lot and empty myself
before turning the key,kissing my husband on the cheek and starting dinner.
