Of Red Bean, Ashes, and Jasmine Rice

i.

dear waipo. i am searching

your hands

buried, incense, jasmine rice

mouse steals the oil.

still small, my fingers cannot 　　　　　　　　　　　　 hold

the universe like yours. jasmine rice

tumbles

onto

hollow 　　　　　　　　 　　　　　 concrete kitchen floor.

ii.

badenweiler-marsch.

waipo, the stairwell in your house is

unwinding.

gray. there are paper diamonds 　　 　　tatters

of ‘upside-down fortune’ on gray walls and

neverending

floors.

waipo, why is it 　　　　　　　　　　　　　 that the lower

i walk, the whispers of our dead childhood

ricochet?

iii.

after concrete,

i remember carnation. love is pink and yellow is massacre. 　　　　

peaches grow on northern soil and birds fly south.

you always　　　 　　　 flew south.

plaster crumbling, i come home in the evening and

walk stairs unweathered by your past 　　　　　　　　　 this time.

instead of footloose guilt there is

mapo tofu sitting at your table.

it is december.

waipo. your warmth is

waning

now.

iv.

waipo, bu yao zhao liang.

i am fifteen 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 still

incense stands in red beans. and morning leaves

cast the afternoon

into our courtyard.

v.

—hong dou sheng nan guo.

red bean is remembrance.

this autumn, it is

searching.

Cover Photo Source: East West Bookshop