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
