crying in temples

A place of solitude and communion

companionship from snails and centipedes

along side me as tears fell

for the loss of my 阿媽 (grandma) and cousin,

a childhood never shared,

relationships never built,

a language eroding over the years

and a mother tongue never learned.

Li bhe kee

Round nasal sounds

Emerging deep from my core.

Guttural tones that bring comforts

without comprehension.

The mothers’ voice

Left at home, an ocean away.

A dialect not learned from family

But among peers in a classroom.

Gua mah see

Round nasal sounds

As we repeat after the teacher

Her tones reverberating in my throat

Now suddenly have meaning.

My grandfather arrives at heaven’s gate

bowing to our ancestors

full of regret and despair.

Empty handed,

his accomplishments mean nothing

after failing to produce a grandson,

the 周 line ends with him.

As I sit at the dinner table,

I look at my family,

my family looks at their phones.

I struggle to make sense of my place

as the blue haired cousin

who suddenly reappears,

seeking a connection

facing mutual disconnection.

“you’re not what a daughter is expected to be”

“you dye your hair back to black or you don’t come to the funeral”

A lifetime of separation

dissipates,

as we share our meals once again.

你回來了

I have returned.

And festering anguish washes away.