I don’t know if my parents had
big dreams I don’t know if they
fell deeply into young love I don’t
know if they ever cried for the
beauty of youth,
all I know is when I see my dad’s
listless form slumped in front of
the TV or my mom’s empty eyes,
childlike and so pretty with make-
up, I feel an ache for their aging
unhappiness and wonder if
it was ever any different, if I will
ever be that different.
“I’m feeling lucky tonight, ”
mother says with starbright eyes,
keys jingling to the car from 7-11.
She hands my sister and I a
penny and a scratcher, singing
to the sky out of a lipstick crescent
moon, “I have both of you with me
tonight.”
As we scratch away the eagerness
fades, like our L.A. sunset dulled
by pollution over my yesterday talk
of beginnings and bright futures,
over my parents’ painful questions
of how did we get to be so old, and
when we don’t win anything, she
still smiles sadly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent, Zoe. Bittersweet, with just the right touch of love. Warmest regards, CJ