Over the Sea, Under the Clouds
When I was thirteen
I took a plane over the sea
Under the clouds
To my grandparent’s house
Even now, years later
I still remember my grandmother’s words
She told me that even though my mother wasn’t here
She could see through my eyes
I still keep that next to my heart
I mean, that’s the most I could have done
My mother
The one who leaves here dull black shoes
Next to her worn, white Michael Kors handbag
Stained with the scent of slanted lies and prejudice
She could have seen the way the clouds reached the edge
Of her childhood house with it’s metallic pink glow
The way the green giants reached past the sky
As if they were calling her home
The sparkle in my grandfather’s eyes
Telling me how proud he is of her success
When he looked at me
I knew he didn’t see . . . me
He saw my mother
Struggling to live and eat two meals a day
Sweeping floors and wiping up the tears in her eyes
When the world was crushing her beneath the American dream
When everything was telling her to go back
As if to say “we don’t want your kind here”
How it must of felt to take a plane, under the clouds
My father
The man that tries to provide
When we both know that’s not he works
He isn’t the type to fix up broken objects
He’s the type to tell my mother that it’ll all be okay
But he has to anyway
Because that’s part of the dream
I was able to visit my grandfather from my dad’s side
That was the first time I heard that he was an only son
My grandfather lives in a little nook
Tucked in the corner of a busy market street
Full of orange soda and bananas fresh off the truck
My father left with my mother
Leaving my grandmother behind
At the age of five, I held her hand as I saw the sickness
That took a grasp of her neck and tugged a little too hard
Her hands must of still been warm
When I saw the violets next to her
Closed eyes, petrified, mesmerized
Memorize her face
Tell him what she couldn’t through his Nokia cellphone
How it must of felt to take a plane, under the clouds
What we have now isn’t perfect
It’s not the dream they had before
But it’s not the nightmare that wakes me up at 3 am
On the dot telling me life is made up of glass
Shaped like my grandmother’s footsteps
I still don’t understand everything about them
But shores will never know the depth of the sea
One day, when can throw diamonds into wishing wells
When the world isn’t like a weight we can’t lift
And the violets bloom by the garden next to our home
We can take a plane over the sea
Under the clouds
To my grandparent’s house