My Grandfather, the Metalworker

By Avi Nguyen

Blesséd be his hands, wrought

with steel and iron, dusted with ash.

His days were endless,

and night melded into noon

turning his hours of meditation

Into a blazing star.

The perpetual summer

burned into his skin, weaving

long tattoos of flames,

scorches of crimson had simmered down

to leave maroon kisses

etched deep in his forearms.

The metal smoldered

and blasted into a hiss,

the creation screaming into water.

The breath of a dragon

sending the shop into storm

and steam.

Yesterday I saw him in the barbershop.

His hair was turning gray.

His face drooped like a sad bulldog,

the ocean had come to swallow him. 

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Avi Nguyen lives in Boston and attends Boston University. He is currently studying Political Science and Economics.