I sit here and listen to an empty
childhood. The smile hides
sadness but in her eyes, I
spot signs of reminiscent gloom.
She was lost- only a decade plus two.
Her life had barely began
but separated she was and
the consequences of dark, dark people
made to open mysteries, "Where's Mak? Nah Pa?"
So the wind was her friend, blowing a path
deep in her heart she knew to take.
Running with strangers all missing the same. Four, five, six year olds
crying the pain of hunger and warmth from their
Mak, reassurance from Pa.
She was strong, holding memories of her givers
close, they would never leave: the noodle shop
on Sundays, clay dolls, and teachings of life, she would pass them on.
And here I am today,
nothing expected except the power
of family and how that bond
survives anything, even the fatal wars
of countries, beliefs, and unnecessary pride.