TPCReview Issue 001

Victoria Kao

Cradling

If you had let your father’s smoke cradle you to sleep,

You would have slept,
dreamless.

If you had said yes
                 to pick out your grandfather’s bones out of his ashes,
                                  freshly cremated,

you would have known,
you said your goodbyes.

and if you had let your shadows
                 sink,
                                  into the water,
                 and grow to your eyes,

you would have been free
from your reflections.

And maybe then,

                 the roads on your shoulders,
                                  built from cement cured with the heat of your father’s palms
                 would crack.

And your parents
                 would instead,
                                  have soil,
                                  have nourishments,
                                                   and space,
                 to live out their greys.