Glass Lotus: My Mother’s Hands

I found an old poem I wrote back in high school for my Creative Writing final:

Glass Lotus: My Mother’s Hands

Today, we bathed in the frigid waters
We danced on the edges of ceramic, porcelain, and glass
The smooth, glistening liquid cried from our tips
And we only sighed in the enclosing warmth

Later, we dove into the foreign earth
Tasting the green with our extremities
The fallen blossoms and decaying leaves
Crumbled dolefully at our touch

At last, we could relax in the peace away from battle
We reclined and grasped each other
We intertwined our many limbs
And allowed ourselves to reminisce

Perhaps, someday, we would return home
To delve in the white sands
To climb the rough bark of those jungle fruit trees
And then forget from where our wrinkled faces came

Tomorrow marks the 35th anniversary of the communist take-over of Vietnam. Nobody stateside celebrates this day, as it is considered more of a tragedy than a triumph. Reading stories about the Vietnamese immigrant experience fills me with a sense of sorrow and loss, even though I never witnessed the violence of warfare on my front porch. Many lives were lost, and though that in itself is sad, I would not exist if the war had not happened and my parents thrown together in their search for refuge.

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Published by

KTC

KT is an avid foodie/gamer/SFF reader with expertise in a variety of bizarre fields. Her love for technology, science, and internet media is only matched by her fondness for music, language and art. Karen is an aspiring writer with a meandering past. Her law and engineering books make wonderful counterweights to her fiction collections. She hopes to one day publish a novel, most likely in the young adult genre, but the future is an open book.

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