(for Tata Chau)
It's been 47 years yet it is yesterday
For her. A rose in bloom crushed.
What is left, a stalk of thorny memories.
She mourns her brother, still.
I trace remnants of his presence.
A father departed before I arrived
as the quill scratches wandering thoughts
(as he might have)
in scattered strokes in each of my sketches.
October 21, 2013
