Monastery Haibun by my friend

They say itā€™s in upstate New York, but it never feels that way going there. Stepping out of
my dadā€™s metallic, navy blue, 2001 Nissan Quest, why does he keep buying the same car? and feeling the gravel crunch underneath my sandals, I know that Iā€™m not in New York anymore. Walking past the lions and elephants that defend this temple hidden in leaves. Turn left, go up, and up, and up, and higher still, as close to heaven as possible, so that mā ma and yĆ© ye can hear me better. At the top of the hill where they reside, the two metal rectangles on the polished stone wall, how could they fit in such a small space? I pray, a still burning incense stick clasped between my two hands, the cinnamon, sandalwood scent of the incense caresses my nose as my mom to speak to the cold metal that is supposed to be my grandparents. All I manage is a meek, ā€œhelloā€.

The sky a dull grey,
The birds and bugs are silent
Like metal on walls

I like this poem specifically because I know the person who made it and because these phrases are very familiar to me as a friend of theirs. I’ve heard of the monastery from them in the past and this is kinda like a soft reminder of it.