Oma
1
1965
she
was named for gold and silver
like
them, she glimmered and glittered
through
her younger days, glamour
her
sharp eyes piercing kindling fiery passion
in
every man’s soul, she was the crimson
rose,
red was her lips burning like the budding
petals
tempting in stillness soft to the eyes of the bees
tender
to their hearts
serene
smiles
from
her tiny tongue witty words and wise sayings
came
like a melodious waterfall, enchanting
old
and young alike, her beauty inescapable
what
woman could deny her envy?
of
charms, smiles, captivating winks
such
is the kingmaker’s power
toppler
of a nation, queen in the making
her
palms were soft, no brooms or pans
or
laundry basket passed through them
other
souls were dying to serve her
the
blooming peony
her
two braids cascading like morning rain
over
her breasts
a
gentle drizzle to wash away
whatever
darkness lingered
2
1967
she
was war’s fragrant flower
blooming
in the bloodbath of her kind
cousins
gone, neighbours killed
or
kidnapped, never to return, no farewells
no
final hugs nor kisses on the forehead
just
disappeared
classes
cancelled, maidens’ giggles vanished
girls
who stayed were locked in bedrooms sobbing
their
fathers perished after kissing the guns
final
shot to the head, clean kill
hunted
merely for being there
for
being born yellow, for their slanted eyes
to
live she had to cut off her roots
packed
and hidden under piles of documents
stored
behind closed doors, locked doors
never
to be opened,
ever
again
that’s
how the flower remained
Oh, Oh, OH. Great softness, much pain, such narrative.
ReplyDeletehow powerfully this builds, Chrysogonous. Beautifully paced.
ReplyDeletetwo separate realities, in two parts, so powerfully expressed!
ReplyDeletenice one!
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteA glorious and heartbreaking poem. This old thing of mine for a woman who lived through that.
THREE WALLS
(for Yang Lei, 1982)
Because when I was much younger
I imagined a warmer home for us all
A haphazard collection of good uses
Our next tradition, a different love
About the same time Comrade Lei Feng
Becomes immortal watching his old mother
Famous for three walls, no candles, no roof
The rain, cold winters, a long history of bugs
Proletarian dreams...a country girl
1980s slowly kicking home from school
Why didn’t Comrade Feng try the temples
Get sounder sleep, regular meals, a job for life?
The day Mao admires a common soldier
Propaganda’s tale becomes the Truth
The spiders get busy spinning Revolution
Four walls, cold water, dirt floor, mud roof
Wherever He went, we would follow Him
Forty years of Slogan to ensure momentum
They said the People’s Will was everything
(In the museum we saw the ropes they used)
Like any hunger does, tomorrow came at night
Selling beef and chicken, rice and oil futures
Cement floor, shower, low interest, electric light
The dizzy architectures of our glorious comrades
For all I have of this life today, one good turn
Away from the past and all that dereliction
I still dream of whatever it was that was coming
Mostly of beehives and hybrid strains of pollen.
Very moving.
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