Kevin Du
A child asks what is the grass?
Cartwheeling cats came and littered the earth
And children ran free without a care
On grass where we would lay on blankets
Snacking on food all day, drinking cold tea.
Grandma would read stories and watch us play
As the sun fell we’d head back to Grandma’s
old cabin, made of old oak logs furnished with
old oak bridges and animal lived skins.
We’d eat peach cobbler she’d made that morning
And sit by fires as she reminisced
about her younger days that filled hearts with
love stories, and warmth that kissed our foreheads.
She would tell us about grandpa in their
younger days, how they fell in love at the
ice cream parlors and soda shoppes sharing
cold malts and gazes into each other’s eyes that bore
children. She storied about the start of
a family before the start of a war
where millions were starved and left nameless.
Where all their clothes were taken off and where
fingers were placed between the notches of
their spines. Where wings were believed to still grow.
Lovers floated, choking on hands across
their faces. A love
song sweetly displayed.
Where lovers would lay, not moving now.
Eyes disappearing in their climb.
Now gone where some holy spectacle lies.
now all that’s left of him are beautiful
grandchildren who play on grass
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