This post is late, as I was sick. I was sick, last week was hard. At any given moment here, I am dazzled by leaving everything I know and also cursing the craziness in me that caused me to leave everything I know. And so is the blessing of adventure.
When I am far I seek
What is always Familiar; the
Wind brushing its bright hazel eyes open over my head
I lose track, I swelter, I swell, I combust and at the end of it all: the signs I can’t read, the words I don’t know, the stars I can’t see – but the Moon, the Trees, the Water Sing because they have always been, always will be inside me and
I have only to walk under the periwinkle sky and sip the gold from the setting sun I have only to
Smile to and to receive a smile from.
My home is here inside me.
A lute out my window and
A lute in the night, by the river
I think of my Great Grandmother with the bound feet who
Swayed while she walked who
Died in childbirth who
Supported her children with sewing when her husband snuck away with the opera singer
My Great-Grandmother with the bound feet
Who died in childbirth it was her
(fourth) daughter born (alive)
When a baby daughter was a sour disappointment because not Only will she cost you money Only to be married out but also because Here is another life that will have to suffer as you have suffered and you will have to break her feet & crush them in a million pieces when she is just old enough to start learning how to read she
Won’t read. I try and decipher collections of symbols I can’t sound out in my head I am
Illiterate here (functionally) I can
Sit in a bookstore to smell the pages but I cannot know what they say, or let them take me somewhere other than
The lake gasps wide and twinkling. Bamboo is
Quiet under smog, My trachea is filled with
I love to buy fruit and cause joy in the fruit sellers’ faces
Fat rosy cheeks at my choppy Chinese I love the
Largeness of everything the
Real sugar in milk tea the
Fresh flatbreads baked on a wood barrel this is not my
Great Grandmother’s China or my
Grandmother’s China just as
Going to college and not getting married was not my
Great Grandmother’s America hers were
Dust, not enough money to buy school
Books, not enough rubber for the
Waistbands on underpants.
I think of my great grandmothers, I think what would they think of me now and
I know that she would Rejoice in my freedom and take Pride in my bravery.
I know it because she presses a hand on my chest and she tells me;
Adventure is Good and