I.
you gave us more than noodles
in a plastic bowl.
Cooked memories,
dished up nostalgia,
sentiments we thought had long ago
died,
in your craggy face
and half-blind eyes
we saw ourselves again
dashing across the courtyard
in the rain.

II.
who knew what you thought of us.
Possibly we were nothing more than
that blur of faces,
biege wash, whitewash
against the blue.
Possibly you never thought of us
at all.
Never pondered over why
or when or what.

III.
All you knew was
bowlafterbowlafterbowl
(all fifty years of it)
wishes
near-misses
dreams on a wing,

And all this for two lines
in some girl's blog

And I never really liked it,
anyway.

--By Yue Lin 'Stall __'

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