Under the Sacred Fig

Under the Sacred Fig
(after Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai
Under the Bodhi Tree)   

Al que a buen árbol se arrima, 
buena sombra le cobija,”
my Abuels once said to me. 

Today, I find this to be true
as I sit under the shade
 of this Sacred Fig 

its seed planted 
nearly one hundred 
solitary years ago 

when my mother 
left this Isla de Encanto
for Nueva York 

to follow a sailor
who hoped to become a doctor—
and did.  

"El amor entra con cantos 
y sale con llantos,” Abuela said,
the day he left us— both crying.

My mother sang Belafonte from then on;
songs about “A hole in the bucket”
and “Daylight coming and wanting to go home”—

songs sung in Spanish 
I half understood and imagined 
were about love lost and found.

She never fully returned
here — just once a year 
and never to her planted tree.

But I have—
to wait for you— unafraid,
my long found love.

Under this Sacred Fig,
these trembling branches
the both of us will sit

calm under
this good shade
and soft blue sky

knowing anything in this world 
may change— but, here— 
we will stay and remain.