Gonggong

Forthcoming in Apprentiece Writer Issue 41

Gonggong

—in memory of Cuong Tu

You dream of apathy

        You fear you will not cry at his funeral

         Thus, in six months you must learn to love 

Cancer is a slow way to go

You dream of love

Two young vendors across a red dirt road

For Popo he’ll take on her three children 

For Gonggong she’ll run across oceans

You dream of a new home, on a new shore

like Gonggong and Popo once did,

        skimming gold, burning boats, soaked and shivering before a mob shouting,

        “We don’t want your kind here!”

You dream of quitting Cantonese lessons

        Mom tried so hard to keep you connected to your roots

        Across the dinner table, Gonggong cackles and coughs

        at your silly faces, your speechless game

You dream of his red dirt village

So many stories you might carry on

if only you could say more than yes and no

        Then one oxygen tank is too little

You dream you die

        You mourn your unmade memories; you hope

this means he might live

A tree grows over your grave

You dream of Mom

            at thirteen years old

            Bleeding, bruised at Gonggong’s hands

            Decades pass; she will not mourn

You dream you survive

            as does Popo, some neighborhood children, and your dog

            You couldn’t save them all, so you chose them over him

            It’s okay, he’ll die soon anyway

You dream you visit Gonggong

            frail body lost among oxygen tanks and humming machines, you remember 

            his wheezing cackle, Mom’s scars

            You linger to the side; Popo reintroduces you twice

You dream of static between sisters

         He’s too far gone to request euthanasia

Only now—facing a man tired, confused, silenced—

Yiyi regrets telling Mom, how can you be so heartless?

You dream, “Today’s the day”

An hour later the family gathers,

folding chairs form a circle

            You stare at their dry eyes

You dream of 49 days of mourning

            but the temple is empty of relatives with excuses

            The few “mourners” loiter in colored tees and summer shorts

            Popo’s lonely sobs echo

You promise to speak with your Popo 

            She shows you his ashes beneath the tree

            She asks if you’ve seen him in your dreams; she has

            As if a thousand dreams can be so simple as: yes

She smiles.

Translations from Cantonese

Gonggong: maternal grandpa

Popo: maternal grandma

Yiyi: maternal younger aunt