She paves the path Of dynasties carved With buckets of sludge upon back; Bent, not unlike her mother’s limb, But under shinier red flags, Cloth coated, with lesser blood.
She’d had a hint of gray She’d not had last time, She had a newer limp She’d not had last time, Her ***** furthered from firm, Reaching for the ground, a promise, In years to be wed with, And yet the underneath Of it all remained as radiant As any sun’d ever been;
And come the cloudy day she leaves, Even mine own eye Will remain far from dry As I’d remember freshly cured bacon, And her tender chopsticks offering life; She’d saved me once, she’d save me again.
A friend of mine once said, "you can choose your friends, but you can't chose your family." I call ******* on that one. Zhang Jin Mei is my another-other-mother, and I'll never forget her.