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Hunan with Grandma

March 22, 2011
By Jesse Shuman BRONZE, Bellmore, New York
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Jesse Shuman BRONZE, Bellmore, New York
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Here is the quixotic languor,
slow like honey, rolling
like sauce from lip to chin.

Here is the silence of forks
plucking heavy cold porcelain.

The light overhead will burn
like the bricks she once dreamed
her home would be forged from, like
the layers of velvet the movie stars
wear in the sepia toned daguerreotype
she finds in weather-toned chiffoniers - they give her dreams
to be fantastical.

I don't understand the cold
language of Asia, but this
is simple enough.

The author's comments:
My Grandmother has been going through a sort of rough patch as of recent. The combination of my Grandfather's aging, (his morality had never been apparent before), and moving from their home of fifty years has chipped away at her like some sort of atrophy. Memories have recently resurfaced, amongst them our trips to the local Chinese restaurant, Hunan, which has since gone out of business. I love her, and I want to let her know that everything will be okay.
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