Out of my grandmother’s window
I watch the sun rise from the East.
It is a glimmer of history,
A piece of my family’s past.

Over the years
I’ve read many stories about this land
Of its ancient traditions
And the yin-yang.

I’ve seen pictures of its splendor
Of its rolling mountain
And luscious, watery fields.

And I’ve heard stories of her people
Of my family
And their struggles.

Yet, that place is so foreign to me.

I sit staring at my grandmother
As we sit by her window.
She talks and I see her mouth move,
But sadly I can barely hear her.

So I gaze back at the sky
And watch the silky clouds circle around me.
I observe the brilliant sun fly over the blue sea.

They are immigrating across a hidden barrier
Toward a new world
Towards the West

And most importantly towards me.