1. “Buddy, I’m Going to Immortalize You”

Buddy, I’m going to immortalize you,

Not in the sense of just written words

That I pour out here like emotions

That we all currently feel.

You use to joke around,

About how “fly” you were,

Like every time you came to a party,

Everyone knew.

It’s strange watching you rise,

Even when you are gone.

Raise those wings and keep flying,

We won’t forget what you’ve done.

You were always taller than me,

I looked up to you.

The trouble we use to get in with

Tommy, Thuyet, Kiet, Kim, etc…

To normal eyes, they aren’t much,

But to mine, they are now memories

I can’t seem to get out of my mind

At this moment.

Computer games in your room,

Adventures in the court,

Your humor never failed

To entertain although strange and often crude.

I recalled a funny memory,

Of your sister cooking you food,

The rest of us just arriving,

As you ate it and jokingly said,

It tasted horrible.

I remembered her getting up and chasing you,

And eventually you smashed your head

Through the easily breakable door.

You just got up and brushed it off;

You were always strong,

Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

What few understand is that you had it rough.

Many people did,

Some even worse,

But you hung in there,

Gave your time to make others laugh,

So that in your time, they could be happy.

And to that sacrifice, I do appreciate

And will forever remember.

Like that crater

Of which your head did leave

On that memorable day,

You left a crater in all of us

As well as funny stories to remember.

And even as we grew apart as we grew older,

We were still family, still blood.

You had your mistakes, your flaws,

But through them simple perfections sat.

You lived your life to the fullest,

As you often exclaimed that you would.

It is just tragic, that the fullest is not full.

Then again, for all I know,

You’re chilling up there

In the V.I.P. with close friends

Just waiting until the rest of us

Make it through the line

And get past the bouncer.

And I just have to say,

You better have some tables ready,

Because you have plenty

Waiting to see you;

You’ll need to order a few more bottles.

But until then, we stand on the other side

Trying to make your face out of clouds

As you clearly watch us.

We could make a statue,

And we know you would be

Up for that plan in a heartbeat,

Probably joking around,

“Yes, and build it 100 stories high made of gold”.

Until we get that much gold,

We will build a statue in our hearts,

Formed by memories, videos, pictures,

And these sad thoughts that don’t seem to fade.

Seems like much to use to remember,

But not good enough at all.

But no worries,

Although you are gone,

Our hearts forever sore,

We watch you soar

And remember when you once walked.

Buddy, we will immortalize you.

R.I.P. Lam Le, love you forever cousin

2. “Parenthood”

A puppy sat by the fire

as I called out, "Buddy!"

and as quick as he could,

Buddy ran to my feet

with eagerness to play.

I pat him on the head,

lifting him like a toy,

launching the little guy

onto the cough, a little rough,

but he sprung back into action,

ready for more.

I grabbed some dog treats,

tossing them up

and watched as he jumped

to catch them.

They must've tasted weird,

seeing such contortions on his face;

he'll get use to them, that's all I give him.

I opened the backyard door,

letting him outside to use the bathroom;

some neighbors looked in disgust,

but it's my lawn,

so they shouldn't care anyways.

He runs off to have fun, no leashes,

I know he has nowhere else to go,

and leave him to return

to my own more important needs.

Hours later, sounds from the door,

I open to find him covered in mud and worms,

leaves and grass stick out of his hair,

his face is sad; playing in the mud?

I suppose its bath time,

filling the tub up with water,

him splashing around, chewing on the duck toy.

I hit him once to stop; it's disgusting.

It's strange to think,

when he grows,

he will face new challenges and understand new ideas.

Funny how he still comes to my bed

late at night, afraid,

even years later,

but all I tell him is:

"You're a big boy now...

go sleep with the puppy by the fire."

3. “Long Distance”

My mother often spoke in broken English,

Hesitant and surrounded by uncertainty,

Like phone calls made long distance

Between different countries, different backgrounds.

It’s always hard to understand

As we try to communicate

Our desires, our aspirations, our identities

When the line is not strong.

Maybe one day,

I’ll visit her world,

Or she’ll visit mine,

And we’ll chat and learn,

Of life unfamiliar beyond our walls;

Too bad our plans don’t offer that kind of service.

4. “Like Father, Like Son”

Like father, like son,

baby Michael

had the habit

of leaving his empty bottles

all around the house,

crying as none

can hear a plea

for help.

5. “What I Once Called Home”

Slowly driving

to what I once called home,

memories began to play

like old, lost films:

black and white,

subliminal and fuzzy

of a childhood

unfulfilled.

The driveway,

full of cracks,

seems the same,

although I am not.

Small and unmaintained,

the artificial lawn,

full of leaves and weeds,

remain a reminder

of a child wishing

for more.

Brown and tattered,

with dead lights from

disappointing holidays

still hanging

from places once were

impossible to reach,

I examined a trailer,

recalling a simple time

of solitary and

reality.

There were windows, small, but

wide enough for light

to illuminate dark rooms

where childhood dreams

of common opportunities

drifted into the shadows.

Only my pen and paper,

or whatever I could find to use,

would know the ambition.

A strong smell,

once overwhelming,

has faded, but for those

that remember it,

still attracts the senses

as the door once closed

opens again.

Inside, walls and floors

that can no longer recognize me,

show a familiar emptiness,

at one time felt understandable.

I walked down a hallway,

remembered the nightmares

of shadowy hands reaching

out to drag any unexpecting

child, unaware of its presence;

this explained why

I was never the victim.

The cold bathroom,

unclean,

dim from drapes

dropped to shield away

eyes of invaders

that father once

tried to protect

us from.

We no longer

needed the protection,

and thus was why

the drapes remained.

I stood in the open doorway,

closed often during childhood,

staring at my cell,

my confinement.

The large window had brightened

the small bedroom,

brighter than I had ever

remembered,

but then again...

I never really tried.

Indents rested in the carpet,

full of stains of juice,

now replaced, where

two beds once stood:

my brother's and mine.

A small iron vent,

attached to the floor,

breathed softly and

easily.

With all the Legos

and small toys we had lost,

someone had finally cleared

its throat.

Silence and peace,

everything so tranquil,

as I could hear

old arguments of

bills, school, food,

and any other

financial issue coming from

the outside.

Silly to think that

I expected to walk out into

a war zone,

just to find empty rooms

of a past life

(not that I had died,

although reborn, I was).

This room, it was here,

where a piece of me

remained.

My childhood confined

in a cell of insecurity

of many levels.

It was here where I

began to fabricate

worlds...better worlds

of fantasy and of escape

of these dark walls

and to explore the world outside.

Yet today, to father I do forgive,

for the sheltering that deprived

me of a normal childhood,

that he was right,

the world is a dangerous place,

worse than what was inside these

safe, dark walls.

Leaving the past in the past,

I walked out the doorway,

not away from memories,

but away from:

the lower class lifestyle,

the fair reality of disappointment,

the sheltering from the world outside,

and the foundation I grew up on.

And as the film of memories

began to roll to credits,

I said good bye to it all,

to what I once called home.