Ba Gia

(Ba Gia translates to "Old Woman" in Vietnamese—this poem is for her.)

There was once this old lady I knew 

Who taught me that life is cruel 

That love tasted like bitter melon and cold forgotten tea 

Birthing tears that filled oceans and seas 

No matter the attempts or how she longed it to be 

The short grasp of love for her shattered, leaving bitterly 

So many stories untold 

From her youth to when she was old 

I try to hear her voice these days 

But it’s faded and she’s gone away. 

There was once this old lady I misunderstood 

Existing half a lifetime wondering if I should 

Should reach out for her touch, just to hold her hand 

To stay a little longer, in her shadow I stand 

So many stories I didn’t get to hear 

Sitting in ignorance, layered over fear 

But now I have these stories I was never told 

From her youth to when she was old 

I hear them from my sisters in pieces and bits 

Memories flood into stories that stain as I listen and silently sit.

There was once this old lady I see now 

The lines beside her eyes tell the story of how 

When looking back it’s different than turning around 

That her love was silenced; hardened, frozen bound 

That depth of feelings sometimes don’t reach sound 

And tears that filled oceans and seas, circles back in rain falling softly to the ground.