When I was thirteen

I took a plane over the sea

Under the clouds

To my grandparent’s house

 

Even now, years later

I still remember my grandmother’s words

She told me that even though my mother wasn’t here

She could see through my eyes

 

I still keep that next to my heart

I mean, that’s the most I could have done

 

My mother

The one who leaves here dull black shoes

Next to her worn, white Michael Kors handbag

Stained with the scent of slanted lies and prejudice

 

She could have seen the way the clouds reached the edge

Of her childhood house with it’s metallic pink glow

The way the green giants reached past the sky

As if they were calling her home

The sparkle in my grandfather’s eyes

Telling me how proud he is of her success

 

When he looked at me

I knew he didn’t see . . . me

He saw my mother

Struggling to live and eat two meals a day

Sweeping floors and wiping up the tears in her eyes

When the world was crushing her beneath the American dream

When everything was telling her to go back

As if to say “we don’t want your kind here”

How it must of felt to take a plane, under the clouds

 

My father

The man that tries to provide

When we both know that’s not he works

He isn’t the type to fix up broken objects

He’s the type to tell my mother that it’ll all be okay

But he has to anyway

Because that’s part of the dream

 

I was able to visit my grandfather from my dad’s side

That was the first time I heard that he was an only son

My grandfather lives in a little nook

Tucked in the corner of a busy market street

Full of orange soda and bananas fresh off the truck

 

My father left with my mother

Leaving my grandmother behind

At the age of five, I held her hand as I saw the sickness

That took a grasp of her neck and tugged a little too hard

Her hands must of still been warm

When I saw the violets next to her

Closed eyes, petrified, mesmerized

Memorize her face

Tell him what she couldn’t through his Nokia cellphone

How it must of felt to take a plane, under the clouds

 

What we have now isn’t perfect

It’s not the dream they had before

But it’s not the nightmare that wakes me up at 3 am

On the dot telling me life is made up of glass

Shaped like my grandmother’s footsteps

I still don’t understand everything about them

But shores will never know the depth of the sea

 

One day, when can throw diamonds into wishing wells

When the world isn’t like a weight we can’t lift

And the violets bloom by the garden next to our home

We can take a plane over the sea

Under the clouds

To my grandparent’s house