Gran

Seven years to this day, you re-appeared.

I could not recognize

That tool sitting on top of the oak chess.

A wood threader. There on the morning

In a forgiving December air, I finally see you.

You held me tight in your arms,

Took me to the fish market,

Bought me little bottles of milkshake.

Your breaking skins on your hands had shaken

My heart.

You held me tight in your arms, even

When you were busy making furnitures.

You poured your heart

And soul into every Zheng.

It never hit me hard enough that

You left,

Seven years ago.

Seven years to this day,

I went down the memory trail

And felt your presence.

Scraping through the memory lane,

I couldn’t find any leftover evidence.

Deus ex machina, shelled

As

A forbearing German.

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