tAnGeRiNe WiNe

I smell dad’s

tangerine wine

floating on the

backyard’s air.

In the retrospect

of the events

that led like

a domino effect,

my growth is a

hackneyed progress

against the

obvious odds.

 

I revolutionized

like the miracle

of a metamorphosis.

The weaver old

woman who became

a ghost of hope

intertwined dreams

in my sleep.

She departed

terminally and gone

evermore before

I went to Vietnam.

 

It’s a life

of me and

a death to

a perfect home.

In these deeper

thoughts and

reveries of

thousand imageries,

I smile at the

candid sentiment

inside my frame.

 

2012