Again the Macintosh tree had
sagging arms with ½ foot Apples which
reminded me of him.
He ascended an orange ladder
to trim fruitless arms
and descended with a spade
to bury his frustrations into the soil
in his white rabbit tank top.
Every morning
He gripped his rusted bike uphill.
Its chain desperately needed grease still
he cranked those wheels two miles
from his apartment to our home.
Projecting laughter over nothing amusing,
but over little victories in this mundane life.
reminiscing
I still hear him giggling in the walls of my studio.
My mom marked him “幸福 1 ”
leaving lilies by his headboard.

Four years ago the macintosh tree
started producing big apples.
His lungs, overwhelmed with liquid
filled the great mason jars we used
to carry hand mashed apple sauce
for Sunday School.
Samantha and I biked in the
blistering summer to
view him in the furthest room, pruned away from callus lumps until
it suctioned away his cheeks, his
fingers poked out like trimmed branches,
Through the sleeves of my black down jacket,
the fabric sunken flat, fleshless.
I would never ever wear it again.
But eventually, I saw something through
the IV bags, cream floral curtains,
sterile plastic flowers, thick hand soap,
brown AC, mechanical bed-chair,
the jungle of last minute pleasantries,
during his end:
His pale yet satisfied smile.
His face humming “幸福 1 ”
Ashes into the sea and his laughter too.
茉莉花2.

The night of his departure, he told my aunt, “I have never loved myself.” At the doorstep of life decisions, he chose family over autonomy. Whenever we had fresh food on the table he chose to eat the leftovers. When he was younger, he loved the mountains, so he majored in roadbuilding; however, since his parents wanted to live close to their only son, he sacrificed his dream and worked at a factory. Later in his life, he couldn’t break free. Marrying someone who loved staying under a roof, trapped him in walls far from the world he wanted to travel. He hid his true feelings under a smile for 70 years.

These days, my grandma weeps before his portrait, my aunt purchases patagonia she imagines on him & Mom facetimes whenever they fight. After he passed, my grandma molded me in his memory and I inherited the offerings of both her and my aunt’s guilt. So now, whenever turbulence boils between them, I feel responsible to solve their toxic codependency. Taking on his mantle and their mental health as our family’s new soft smiling hero. 幸福 1
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1 Footnote- “幸福” pronounced Xing fu means to be happy/blessed
2 “茉莉花 “ pronounced Mo Li Hua means jasmine flower