(Poem by Peauladd Huy)
It’s scary-real not to root for
you to get up safely
from your chairs during trail. You are so old.
I feel like I can reach out and take
you into my arms because
you are about my parents’ age –
all frail and less able with the world
if they’re alive today. Any good sense
people who’d survived
live to tell would’ve remembered – their deaths
demand loyalty from
me who is still here. Emotion drops
its veil before logics. Heart before head
head’s doubled back in the old corner.
It’s as if I had no choice but
to look past
ignoring my parents’ images
passed love to feel
love I’ve lost
all these years. What good would family
bond be, if I can’t be true
to the parents these people killed.