for my birthday month
Chilly September. The doorway to a new season. I could smell the aroma of cinnamon emanating from the pastries when walking by the bakery this morning.
It was in September many yeas ago that my mouth was full of mom’s breast milk. The flamboyant was not blooming in red anymore. The shooting in the battlefield shook the lullaby hovering over my cradle.
September, the genesis of many things in life. I remember the shining smiles carved in the white waves at Vung Tau beach. The giggling by the chayote vine of my grandma in Dalat. The warm eyes of the little girl enlivened by the candlelight lit inside the pigeon-shaped lantern during the full moon festival.
September, the onset of death and decay and deterioration. How many tears I have shed and filled up rivers and oceans. Which one I wonder will be the last to roll into the deep blue ocean.