Burial by Cathy Linh Che

View this email on a browser Forward to a friend May 8, 2014   Burial   Cathy Linh Che

There is the rain, the odor of fresh earth, and you, grandmother,             in a box. I bury the distance, 22 years of not meeting you                         and your ruined hands. I bury your hair, parted to the side and pinned back,             your áo dài of crushed velvet,                         the implements you used to farm, the stroke which claimed your right side,             the land you gave up when you remarried,                         your grief over my grandfather's passing, the war that evaporated your father's leg,             the war that crushed your bowls,                         your childhood home razed by the rutted wheels             of an American tank—                         I bury it all. You learned that nothing stays in this life,             not your daughter, not your uncle,                         not even the dignity of leaving this world with your pants on. The bed sores on your hips             were clean and sunken in. What did I know, child                         who heard you speak only once, and when we met for the first time,             tears watered the side of your face.                         I held your hand and said, bà ngoai, bà ngoai Ten years later, I returned.             It rained on your gravesite.                         In the picture above your tomb, you looked just like my mother.             We lit the joss sticks and planted them.                         We kept the encroaching grass at bay.              Copyright @ 2014 by Cathy Linh Che. Used with permission of the author. About This Poem   “In 2012, I visited my grandmother’s burial place in Vietnam. While standing at her gravesite, it struck me how profoundly the Vietnam War had affected our lives (I essentially grew up without a grandmother, and she hadn’t met us until she was about to die). In this poem, I was trying to encompass the vastness of that loss, and also to honor her life.” —Cathy Linh Che   Cathy Linh Che is the author of Split (Alice James Books, 2014).  She lives in Brooklyn, New York. Most Recent Book by Che   Split (Alice James Books, 2014) "1939" by Marjorie Agosín "From a Woman of a Distant Land" by Tada Chimako "Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind" by Carl Sandburg Poem-a-Day   Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-a-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on weekdays and classic poems on weekends. Thanks for being a part of the Academy of American Poets community. To learn about other programs, including National Poetry Month, Poem in Your Pocket Day, the annual Poets Forum, and more, visit poets.org   You are receiving this e-mail because you elected to subscribe to our mailing list. If you would like to unsubscribe, please click here.   © Academy of American Poets 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038