Mai Tran

An Instant

By Mai Tran

My eyes open to the scene of the night—

The candles lit up the paper lanterns

There were a rabbit, fish, and star

All held by jolly children,

All absorbed in the festive laughter—

And remember the moon hung in the sky.

My eyes open to the middle of the road—

The child waddled along her mother’s footsteps

There were a road divider, motorcycles, and a thought

“I am made of flesh and blood,”

No one told the child that this was the beginning—

And remember the changing winds and seasons.

My eyes open to the afternoon of a class—

The cicadas eased the oppressive sunlight

There were a green board, white chalk, and uniforms

The teacher moved her hand across the board with vigor,

Her back exuded knowledge and magnificence—

And remember the dream I once had.

My eyes open to the side of a restaurant—

Munch munch slurp slurp

There were noodles, soup, and chopsticks

They were held by a child’s clumsy hands,

Her mother scolded her but gently wiped her mouth—

And remember the different names for these dishes.

My eyes open to the display of Buddha—

The temple incense burner greeted the passerby

There were the deceased pictures, their names, and incense bowls

The monk looked on and extended a prayer,

The visitor offered apples and pears to the deceased—

And remember the teachings in the Buddhist scriptures.