053
Those little and wandering deepest of dark brown eyes Asked, “Do you regret me?” And I thought of:
The mists come morning before bridal veils. The stupor and stumble of a Beijing bender. His mother, on a mountain, with only our echoes. My own mother’s pancakes the dawn before I’d left
I wandered:
The neon of that Tokyo night, never forgotten. Those three old men, prior peach tree and Meng Po, Her soup, they’d forget, the camaraderie, I’d never. So to, the blood, mud, and every brother that'd had my back.
He waited. I continued to think of:
My grandfather’s arrival from sea on a ship, And the same ship taking me to sea for my own story. Dreams above clouds and lands for feet, foreign. Every intimacy, connection, and cold night, warmed.
I’m ready.
But the promise, one and alone, held atop my heart, For my son - you’ll always have me - and, “No,” Never a regret, quite the contrary, only eternity.
And until his own, path and plight, Lead him away, as the miles took me And prior, the word “sacrifice” ceased to exist.
- H.H. (2023)
