{"id":34345,"date":"2017-08-05T13:36:01","date_gmt":"2017-08-05T17:36:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=34345"},"modified":"2017-08-05T13:59:51","modified_gmt":"2017-08-05T17:59:51","slug":"hour-5-lake-lure","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2017\/08\/hour-5-lake-lure\/","title":{"rendered":"hour 5: lake lure"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><em>Umma<\/em> never let me wait up for you.<br \/>\nBut sometimes I didn\u2019t fall asleep<br \/>\nuntil I heard you come home.<br \/>\nPorch door swung open, plastic blinds slapped against the door.<br \/>\nI drifted away,<br \/>\nknowing you would be met with a steaming bowl of white rice<br \/>\nand a hearty, spicy stew.<\/p>\n<p>You never showered before you slept.<br \/>\nI know this because the smell of raw fish and cigarettes<br \/>\nyou carried from the restaurant<br \/>\npermeated our home,<br \/>\nbattling the scents of chili and garlic<br \/>\nwafting from <em>Umma<\/em>\u2019s kitchen.<\/p>\n<p>The immigrant curse meant work and sleep<br \/>\nwere all you knew.<br \/>\nSo freedom for you was driving me an hour away,<br \/>\nwhere we dipped our feet in cold water<br \/>\nand imagined stories about the lakes\u2019 mysteries.<\/p>\n<p>The lake was your freedom.<br \/>\nSo they spread your ashes there.<\/p>\n<p>I watched them do it, along the bank.<br \/>\nIt had been cold for weeks<br \/>\nbut the grass was so bright that day,<br \/>\nwelcome you with its summer best.<br \/>\nThe water<br \/>\nlapped at the shore,<br \/>\ncarried some of you away.<br \/>\nYou would finally unlock its secrets.<\/p>\n<p>The wind<br \/>\nwanted part of you too,<br \/>\nand I remember how pretty your ashes looked,<br \/>\nfalling from grieving fingertips<br \/>\nand fanning out like you were dandelion seeds<br \/>\nabout to grant a wish.<\/p>\n<p><em>Ahpa,\u00a0<\/em><br \/>\nsometimes I wish<br \/>\nI would have dipped my hand into the box<br \/>\nand felt your ashes fall from between my fingers.<br \/>\nBut I think<br \/>\nI am glad<br \/>\nthat the last time I touched you,<br \/>\nyou were alive.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Umma never let me wait up for you. But sometimes I didn\u2019t fall asleep until I heard you come home. Porch door swung open, plastic blinds slapped against the door. I drifted away, knowing you would be met with a steaming bowl of white rice&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1002,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-34345","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/34345","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1002"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=34345"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/34345\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":34576,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/34345\/revisions\/34576"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=34345"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=34345"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=34345"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}