Broken Dreams

As I am job searching yet again
For the fourth summer in a row
After college graduation
Mom, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry

You escaped the war
Moved to a foreign land
All because you dreamed of a better life for us
And what do I do?

I went to college and had dreams of social justice
How dare I dream of making this world better,
When I can't even make your life better?
Why couldn't I have just gotten a business degree?

Sorry I couldn't buy you that new house in the suburb
Sorry I couldn't buy you that fancy car
Sorry I couldn't get you all the things you deserved
Sorry I couldn't live out the dreams that you had for me
The saddest thing is that
I can't even express my sorrows
In a language that you could understand

You've never faulted me for who I've become
And I just wanted you to know that I am who I am
Because of your good teachings
Luckily you have two other sons who will live out your dreams

And although, I don't follow your Buddhist ways
I really hope that reincarnation does exist
So that I could be your son again in the next lifetime
And every lifetime after that
Maybe then,
I'd be able to do more for you
Than I am able to do in this lifetime
Maybe I could make your dreams come true
Maybe I'll be able to give you all the good things that you never asked for

One More Minute

I don't want to leave yet
May I stay here a bit longer?
To try to get to know you a little better
Cuz I have so many questions I'd like to ask

Like
How are you doing?
Where have you been all this time?
Did I live up to your expectations?

Sorry
Didn't mean to get so serious right away
I guess we can start with the fundamentals
Cuz I don't even know that
What's your favorite food?
Your favorite color?

Please answer me
Say something
Tell me that you love me
Tell me that you're proud of me
Say anything

You can even tell me that I'm a disappointment
I just want to hear that voice
That calm and soothing voice
That used to put me to sleep every night

Alright
Don't speak
But would you at least listen to what I have to say?
Cuz a lot has happened in the twenty-six years that you've been gone

For instance
We've all grown up now
Not struggling so much now
And all three of us are doing our best to take care of mom
But she is sick often
She seems happy though
I think it's because of the grandkids

Oh, by the way
Did you know that you're a grandfather now?
Yeah, both my brothers have kids
They're great fathers
They would do anything for those kids
I think that's because they know how it feels to not have a father

Oh no
It's not your fault
None of us blame you for what happened

All I'm saying
Is that they know how it feels to have that emptiness in their heart
And I don't think they would want to wish that upon any child

Um, also...

What?

It's time to go?

No
Please no
Please don't let me wake up yet dad

You died to young dad
I was only a baby
Never had a chance to get to know you
And the only time I get to see you
Are in these dreams
Standing there, silently
I have so much to tell you

Please
Please let me dream for just a minute longer
To make up for the millions of minutes that I've thought about you
Just a minute longer
To make up for the millions of minutes that I've been without you
Please
Let me dream for just a minute longer
To make up for the 13,756,320 minutes that I've missed you
PLEASE

Papillons

The bed is a pristine cocoon for this slumbering butterfly.
She dreams of flooding her burgeoning wings
Over dew-laden petals of columbine and honeysuckle.
In her floral haze she laps up the honeyed sap
that the blossoms drizzle in their trembling
haste to feel the iridescent light.
Filtered through her gossamer arms,
the light murmurs as it grazes their velvet centers
with ruby, sapphire and emerald glow.
My mother loved the butterflies in her garden,
swooping and diving into the chrysanthemums,
but they never dreamed.
Summer afternoons would leave us speechless
like a cluster of perch wheezing and squirming
on the prickly lawn, dreaming of liquid revival
but with spade in hand, she would squat in the crackling dirt
and croon to the gasping flowers.
She would sing her Beatles to the butterflies.
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on
was her gardening bible verse, her whispered wisdom
to the fragile bleeding hearts, lying comatose in the shade.
Under the scorching rays of a diminishing childhood
our dreams of milk and honeysuckle
wilted into mulch for earthworms to wriggle over.
We were drowning in crabapple blossoms
drifting down from the uninspired trees
in our safe corner of the world.
We grew tulips from our hair and paraded
along the sable rooftops in our reverie.
If I ever hope to fly I must paint delicate
watercolor patterns on my forearms that echo
the dreams of the embryo, sleeping in her forgotten chrysalis.
Les reves des papillons sont passagers--
The flower buds groan and droop their ripening heads
clinging to illusions of gemstone feather wings
swathed in a stiff, oppressive cradle of silk.