On Mother's Day

             On Mother’s Day

I want to pluck

       the prettiest flowers

             somewhere

                  in the heavenly place—
 where you make abode now,  

 having your white hair floating

         like cloud tendrils

             in golden late afternoon sunshine,

     and the golden cranes,

           who fly by with wings spanning, flapping in awesome moves—

              would be flabbergasted

       by your hair’s beauty  

                    and arrest their wings

                        a second

                             to have a glance

    to offer those flowers

          to you,

      and murmur

          to your ears, “I Love You”             

Now, thinking of you, dear Mother

I have only the photos,

     especially the one on the altar,

     with your sweet, gracious smile

     and the memories of

     how you missed me when I had been pushed away

         out of the country on that dark, dark day

         of our history;

   and how, every time,

   you saw a young man my age,

   who resembles me,

   you would cry at night;

   or every time,

   when there were family gatherings

   you would sit at a corner,

           tears in your eyes,

                  missing your son

Oh. Mother I owe you my life

The only way

    I can “pay” this back is

          trying to love my  own daughters,

          maybe to a quarter or a third—

             (pardon my own way of “lousy” estimation by number) —

         the way you loved me.

Dear Mother,

     wishing you the best up there,

        somewhere

            in this immeasurable, infinite, unbounded

                                    Space and Time,

        and if we ever meet again

        the next life , or next, or ten or hundred-lives next

        I would still very much

             like to be

                 an offspring of yours.

Oh, dear Sweet-Beloved Mother, how I miss Thee

Ôi, Mẹ Ngọt ngào yêu dấu, con nhớ Mẹ biết bao.

HQ

May 12, 2013