The Sun, a sizzling jewel
in the sky, was ineffective against
the blanket of cold fog
that smothered the valley.
Home dwelled deep in the valley,
in the shadows cast by the ranges.
Home was a beacon, announcing warmth
and comfort, in all that darkness.
Home was where Grandma was.
In the attic, icy artic winds
reached in and stroke my bones
through the jagged cracks.
But I was there and there
I would remain. Crates stacked
against the walls formed a bubble
of memories locked from time.
My search through the worned,
yellowed pages of the photo albums
yielded a prize. There was
Grandma as a young woman, my age.
I looked into the mirrors of
the past…
She was beautiful. Her eyes shone
with life, the kind that was quiet
and yet cherished life more than
any loud elation. Her gentle face
stared at me from the pages…
Memories tumbled forth from that bottomless
moment between surprise and realization.
Memories, shapeless, ignored and yet
the most precious of all; memories
that stumbled forth…
Your concerned face,
wrinkled, luminous with love
and wisdom, ageless, watching
over me. You never feared to work,
work hard, nver letting life
pass you by. I learned by
your example, Grandma…
Memories tumbling and turning…
Your strong hand picked me
up from where I had fallen.
Your concerned hand wiped the
tear-shoked dirt from my face.
“Don’t cry, I am here…”
Your comforting hands rocked
me to sleep,
hugged me when nightmares
should tread near.
Your stern hands held the darkness at bay.
“Don’t be afraid, I am here…”
You held me secure and safe
on that rough and warring
see, when the Vietcongs came
after us. You lent me your courage.
“We got away, Grandma!”
Through childhood and adolescence,
you were there, Grandma.
You were there through
the phases of my adolescence,
helping me through that difficult,
sometimes tight, portal to adulthood.
You were my Rock, my anchor,
my support in the teeming waters
of the waterfall of life.
You never punished me, never
needed to, even when I lied
and my vengeance hurt others.
Your shame and disapproval were
enough. Never more “An eye
for an eye.” Never more…
I went to school,
got good grades, learned
my manners to make you
proud, Grandma, just as I
am proud of you.
“But I will always be
proud of you…”
“I know, Grandma, but I must try
for you and for me…”
I would tell myself,
“I’m a chip off the old block.”
You would always interrupt,
“A chip off a granite block if you ask me…”
The memories settled back
into ther recesses of my mind…
Now my hands can hold
the darkness at bay. You
have taught me well. Thank
you, Grandma, for my life, for
my love, and for you. “You were
always there for me and…”
A voice interrupted me.
“Mr. —– —– —–, you come
down from that attic now
before you catch cold!”
Oops! My full name with
the “Mister” in front!
“Yes, Grandma! I’m coming
down.”
Now, to end,
“… and always will be, Grandma!”
Submitted to 1990 UTLA Asian-Pacific Scholarship