Jacob Siu-Zmuidzinas // MY GRANDPARENTS HOUSE

The essence of childhood is bottled up here.

Cemented in the surrounding city blocks,

Flowing through the flower patterns on the rugs,

It agents the wind chimes to whisper when I walk through my grandma’s garden,

And it pollutes the fragrance of Chinese pastries

That ever entice me to open the pink box.

They say the pastry shop is going out of business

But I’m not sure I’m ready to give that up.

 

The essence of culture is bottled up here

It plays hide and seek with your subconscious,

And its undertones reverberate through the elderly bickering.

It can be felt encrypted in the Chinese tribune in my grandfather’s hands

And it schemes with the all seeing chandelier above the dinner table,

That has witnessed the highs and lows.

They may call it traditional

But perpetual seems more fitting.

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