Meet You There?
We rise to news coverage of the latest, greatest love story. Today, two 婆婆 fell in love late in life in a still-theirs Chinatown. Each love story is us in another dimension. The most frenzied part of our day is breakfast. We are making wet scrambled eggs and longanisa and tomatoes soaked in suka and garlic rice for a dozen of our soul friends. Everyone is here. Everyone is safe. There is freshly baked sourdough on the sun-drenched counter. Real butter. Blueberry mint compote we simmered on the stove with too-ripe berries found in the depths of our fridge. How easy it is for us to make sweetness from the forgotten. Macbooks and phones don’t exist here, but the exalted, azure ocean does. Her tide a rolling reminder that Mama Earth will always hold our grief with an ancient strength. Friends are catnapping on the plush, green grass. Reading poetry to each other like the living room is a sold-out Carnegie Hall. Snuggling with puppies strewn about the farmhouse because one of our dogs just had babies. New life is everywhere. Laughter, everywhere.
