Let me fall asleep while I tell you about Grace,
and how she spoke so softly.
She used to take me out and show me her favorite brands
of jeans and dresses.
She’d have me come to McDonald’s with her
and ask me to finish her Big Mac and fries(she never could).
Now she is gone, and I wonder if she still sleeps
on a bed frame made of stone. She picked out beautiful
purses for her mother in midtown. Told me to remove my eyeliner
every night. She showed me Kimchi and Soba,
she asked me about my family and the man I almost married.
Sometimes, at night, we wandered the
east village, and she loved how Wyatt laughed. Loved how
Jordan danced. Loved how Lori had poetry written under
her skin. I wonder how she is, and if she is still with
the man she loved. The one who went into the army because
in Korea, all men must go into the army. She wanted to have
an orphanage and work with a home for the elderly.
She said, “who needs more love than the motherless, and those who
are dying? Let them have one another. They will love and be loved.”
Her father passed away when she was young, and left her an
inheritance. She does not feel lucky. She wishes she had
a father, and asks me about mine. I take my eyeliner off
and ask her to play with my hair. I am with her,
somehow, now, even if just while drifting away.
She is touching my hair, and telling me about her brother.
About all of the pickled things I will eat when I go
to visit her, served in small bowls served before every meal.
She hopes her father is proud.
I yawn and tell her, he is.