Old Wound Poem by Chen-ou Liu

A Tanka Prose


standing still
on the opposite shores
of the Pacific
in a dream...
youthful Mother and aging me

When I was young, homesickness was a long cable line:
me on one end, Mother on the other.
When I grew up, homesickness was a three-sheet letter:
an hour’s labor, written and folded with care.
But later on, homesickness was reduced to $3 plus tax:
a seasonal greeting card.
Now, homesickness is a surging sea:
me in this Promised Land, Mother on a crowded island.

drifting in a dream
turned into a bird
flying over the Pacific -
I open my eyes
upon darkness again