Kangkong | 空心菜

by KENDRICK LOO

Best known for how it lent
to flavor, I was taught how
to fry it, to pick the most
tender stems. Bundle by bundle,
my grandfather and I would pluck
and hull the greenery, running

it through fresh water. Years later,
when I finally recognize
this plant perched atop the pond
riotous with life, I think
how strange it looks, with
its trumpet of white petals. Surely

I could not compare this to what
I had cooked. But when I look again,
how it grows and moves with the wind,
how these worlds of water
and family have grown close
with my grandfather’s passing—

I remember the sea,
my grandfather watching
as the waves rolled in, and I
am hollowed afresh, watching
as my pan smokes, air
filled with the scent of char.

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