works by william pham, 2005-present

index | poetry | fiction

Grandfather-Father

My parents blazed a trail across the
United States, from North Dakota to
New Jersey to Needles, California,
Not unlike the Oregon Trail game
I played in elementary school.

But instead of dysentery, my grandfather
Succumbed to lung cancer caused by the
Smoke of mahjongg parlors and well-furnished
Rooms in million-dollar San Jose homes
(Two- or three-million dollar homes now).

My other grandfather went senile, and
I looked on in disgust, a child
Watching a child while the parents
Carried shit-stained sheets away,
Their shoulders hunched from the burden of
Filial piety.

I always wondered why they lit incense
In front of my grandfathers' portraits,
And set fresh food for them, like the
Brown pork and hard-boiled eggs that
I loved so much more than the grandfathers
I had never known.

But one day I watched my father fall asleep
On the couch while the television droned
A lullaby about Bosnia or impeachment to
His tired ears.

He is not an old man yet,
And he may still ford rivers,
But there will come a time when
I will light incense for my father.

copyright (c) 2006 by william pham