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There was spare time, so we took it. Of course I did.
I've always been a bit greedy, like my mother before me.
She told me often of the summers she spent hands outstretched
Reaching for the longyan - a succulent refuge from the summer sun
(they drop the "y" in Cantonese)
until she nearly tumbled from the balcony.
When she tells this story, she shakes her head, laughing,
Dark eyes glittering like longyan pits
Remembering
Her own mother's fear and anger
At the danger she'd put herself in.
Sweaty hands interlinked by the lake,
Pulling away at the whispers of incoming footsteps
Pulling up to our mouths to cover our greedy laughs
Greedy mouths, searching always for the pale flesh
Of the summer longyan.
There's a flock of hooded mergansers
Diving and bobbing for fish in the almost-February sun
I'd never seen them in real life before, only
In photos, in guides where they cackle and frolic,
Bright white crests opening and closing.
I make a joke about ducks being a symbol of love, and she
Stares at me for a moment. The white sail-crest falls, hands pull away
And she asks me what that meant, exactly. Well, you know,
Like you see with the wedding gifts.
Ah, she says, gaze drifting with the water, I guess so. But
Weren't those mandarins?
The blank sails rise,
Sheaf of paper, blanket of snow,
And I say nothing
Just twine my fingers through hers again
Stealing a moment of warmth
Before the next time I have to let go.
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allt
this is an absolutely awesome poem and i loved the explanation of it you provided in the bulletins as well!
i really enjoy when works connect an event that happened in the distant past with something more recent and current and this poem does this very well (while there is no change in tense, the abrupt change in tone the last line provides does the job amazingly, as my vivid images of the ducks, trees and love folded into emptiness and doubt at that point!) all of the metaphors for whiteness, the shore as an area of transition (i have always thought of the sea as a great symbol of new beginnings in general partly because i keep imagining waves running over the sand and erasing any footsteps, tracks or drawings in it and leaving behind a plateau alike to a clean sheet of paper, which is, like… the most obvious symbol of a new beginning! and partly because of this one really depressing-sounding book i have heard of about an albanian guy in the early 1990s escaping a ship taking him to italy along with others hoping to start a better life because of being convinced that he already had no opportunities in life in albania, a massive contrast to the average guy you would see in the average socialist realist novel that published in the country at this guy’s time, and would therefore be going nowhere no matter where he went and whatever new beginning was given to him. a very specific association… why do i even remember this…) and even the pun concerning the tree (which is not bad at all and is a really interesting niche detail, especially with the fact that cantonese is becoming less and less used and the whole idea of the story being doubtful because of, well… being a story from the distant past one’s parents told them!) are amazing parts of the poem as well.
I REALLY appreciate you taking the time to type out this response; it makes me very happy to see that you enjoyed my work <3 The waves washing over any impact one could make is a really good symbol that I wish I'd thought to incorporate into this poem, and your reading of it definitely adds more dimension! It's interesting that you mention a story about a man's failure/refusal to leaving his country, because aside from the obvious immigration/outsider themes I feel that my poem also is about when and when not to cut your losses. Also RE: the Cantonese stuff that has appeared in a weird amount of my blogs: I can't speak it. Like, at all. It's actually pretty embarrassing. I'm pretty good with speaking Mandarin (but not so much with reading/writing it) and my total inability to understand Cantonese feels a lot like I'm letting my family down. To be fair, it's not like I'm alone in this, my cousins who grew up with only 1 Cantonese-speaking parent can't speak it either. It's just quite sad to me. Cantonese has been subject to a number of attempts to suppress it, and it almost feels like I'm contributing to that just by existing. Which, obviously, is not true - how can 1 American teenager be responsible for decades of bans from official Chinese institutions? - but doesn't stop the less rational parts of my brain from feeling this way. Anyway, if you're interested in more writing about family and the Chinese-American experience, I'd recommend Sue Zhao's works, specifically this one: https://blossomfully.tumblr.com/post/686972273918410752
by Katal; ; Report