I can still smell dim sum
And hot chrysanthemum tea
That lingers in your warm breath
With every exhale as you spoke to me
Your gentle eyes
Amid incremental creases and folds
Lies of rich history that is yet to be told
Shines bright—
Of wisdom,
Of youth,
And of light
But your body
Exactly 5 foot 5
65 inches
That’s 78 years worth of materials
So resilient
Like your human spirit
Clinging tight to your delicate frame
Is wearing away
From OA—I repeat
OA—not old age
I still think of you Mr. J,
Not as that old man with a single-point cane
Who bears pain
Because his joints are wasting away,
But as one of the first to believe in me
I often think of you Mr. J,
Because you helped me see
Between words and lines
Spilled out from 99 slides
And 55 pages of notes and SOAPs
Still all a blur
That I am exactly where I need to be
Sent from my iPhone
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