So i sat on the plastic chair, worn out and cracked from years of usage.

Blowing softly on the cup of noodles before me, i listened to my cousin’s tales.

She would act the sorrowful scenes, while we watched in mortified peace.

Sitting in a circle,

the yellow lights hung on the trees above,

the winds chanting along with her.

Like an old song that brings comfort,

the grass and the stories,

the food and the family,

in the middle of the night playing card games,

all ears in the dark.

My little brother

such a sore loser,

when he lost

the act would have to stop

as we realized

the noodles were now cold

the night almost concluded

the sun showed and our eyes closed.

i smiled in the face of it all

the narratives my cousin acted and the tears my brother cried

the moon’s soft laughs and the winds beautiful eyes,

my cousin’s tales were a lullaby

to my never ending sleep.