It's Saturday morning
I'm here in
Saffron's cafe
writing poems,
waiting for
a bus
I'm sipping my
Vietnamese latte
and then, eats
my mango tart
I'm still looking
at the
old photographs
of this cafe
And I stare
to his portrait,
an impressionistic painting
It's vintage, they say
But I still remember
the poetry within
that old portrait
of him
It's going to rain,
I know
but the sun
is still shining

bluebirds are flying
the poetry in the air
grey leaves in the wind

It's Sunday afternoon
I'm here in
Momo Ramen House
I'm eating his
favourite Tonkotsu
while reading his
autobiographical poems
that he wrote
when he was twelve
I look on
to the
Japanese paintings
on the wall
It reminds me of him
when he paints
the poetry
of Cordelia's
childhood,
when he continues
to write
my memoir,
and became
the memoirist
of my fiction
and poetry
And now, I'm here
watching the tears
of the
serene sunset

© cfwang