My grandmother died in 1994 from starvation and lack of care in Vietnam. I
have never seen her before, I have never talked to her, written to her, or ever
seen her. But sometimes I dream about her, and how she must have been like,
to be so strong to endure through the Vietnamese conflict, her husband killed
by communists and letting go of her children who fled to America while she stayed
in her homeland.
My mother was very attached to her and continues to write letters to her even
today, knowing that she has passed.
This is a poem I wrote for my grandmother:
to my grandmother
i never knew you as a person, i never saw you,
you were thousands of miles away, thats all i knew,
i remember my mom sat there for hours writing letters,
about her gardens flowers,
and how its so nice to live in this place,
and how her own son is such a disgrace,
it wasnt that she didnt know,
that you had passed away so long ago.
perhaps it didnt matter, that you had passed,
she didnt even care.
she enjoyed writing letters to you anyways,
it took away her despair.
sometimes shed sit alone, staring off into space,
imagining your presence, your beautiful face,
shed sit there for hours,
staring into thin air,
and sometimes i sat with her and tried,
tried to imagine you were there.
i could see you sitting in your chair,
sitting there with so much elegant flair,
beautifully dressed in a thick red gown,
in so much pain, but never letting yourself frown,
but it still baffles me we have never met,
and still, you are the most beautiful person yet.