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Sonia Tam 

 

 

‎I. Sixteen-hour flight

 

The night before my

flight, we look at each other

like it is the last

time. Two months will pass, and I

will know, soon, that we were right.

 

II. Ash

 

I drop paper in

the fire, watch it burn to

ash that floats to the

sky where you are, wondering

if tears, too, can burn to ash.

 

III. Days between

 

Dad counted the days

between his parents’ deaths. In

the cold air, alone,

Dad sighs – and says this is the

number of days since Dad died.

 

IV. Funeral in white

 

Today I saw a

funeral with men in white.

Wearing my black dress,

I bow three times, fearing the

day I forget how to grieve.


 

Sonia Tam is a senior majoring in English and Asian Studies with minors in Race and Ethnic Studies and Creative Writing.