Sunday, May 12, 2013

On Mother's Day

             On Mother’s Day

I want to pluck
       the prettiest flowers
                  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,
            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.


May 12, 2013

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