The delicious smells escaped the restaurant,
I stood in the alley watching my son practicing
his Kung Fu forms,
while ducks roamed outside
searching for food in the grass.
A storm of emotions through my mind,
frozen I could not step through the double wood doors,
I couldn't breathe,
I couldn't walk into the past.
Dad loved the big round table,
the white tablecloth stiff with starch,
conversation would flow over
sweet and spicy bold flavors.
Dad would pour tea in the small
ceramic cup and delight in the moment.
He loved abundance of food,
something he learned
while being hungry during the war.
He lived a big life,
and he knew the meaning of it.
One day I conquered my fears,
I walked through those doors,
like dipping my feet in the cold ocean,
I walked in to pick up take out,
love in small boxes of white and red.
Familiar faces were absent ,
I sighed with relief.
I could not bare to tell the owner,
that I was alone,
that my parents are gone,
that I could never sit at the big round table
I took my boxes home,
closed my eyes,
and as I tasted the food,
I closed my eyes
and I remembered.
This week is a hard week for me. Father's Day comes right before my dad's birthday which is on June 23. My dad was a special man and we shared a special bond. I write about him , it helps the longing and it helps with the loss. The Chinese restaurant that my parents loved to go to is in the same plaza as my son's Kung Fu school is. It took me a long time to be able to walk through those doors even for takeout. Please meet us here, http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts.