Tai-kong.
The only story I have of you is when dad told me
You used to be so cheap,
That you used newspaper to wipe your ***
When I made the trek to
Abad Santos to visit your grave,
I found myself staring upward at
Brows knotted permanently
In a scowl.
I associate your scent with
The smell of incense and
Burning candles,
Your touch like that of
Cold marble.
Even in death,
You eclipse my grandfather.
He has your eyebrows.
I hope you noticed.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
Tai-kong.
The only story I have of you is when dad told me
You used to be so cheap,
That you used newspaper to wipe your ***
When I made the trek to
Abad Santos to visit your grave,
I found myself staring upward at
Brows knotted permanently
In a scowl.
I associate your scent with
The smell of incense and
Burning candles,
Your touch like that of
Cold marble.
Even in death,
You eclipse my grandfather.
He has your eyebrows.
I hope you noticed.
On a heritage built on bitter tears.
