Tuesday, February 14
LOVE LETTER
The heart-shaped leaves
run home from the trees. Their mothers
wait for them, never give up on them.
Must all children give up on their mothers
some day?
Life is wall-shaped.
Cars smash into it. That's why
language is crash-shaped.
The letter f faces east like a windblown fir,
and the letter O is an eye looking
up at you like a stone.
But even if you poured the whole sea into it, the bowl
will never become water-shaped.
So all the mother-shaped sentences chasing
the idea of the world through the marble archways
will still just be peice-of-paper-shaped.
Even so, people write such long poems of love by
walking aimlessly through the parks.
There must be some reason.
Some season.
Out past the page,
something real like a peach branch.
I write to you in blue ink even though
I am not a fountain pen.
Even though I am not a love letter.
(Hua Xi)