A Letter Unwritten, To My Son Poem by Joan Xie

I shall write
this letter a long ago
but my hesitation caught me cold.
several tries
several abandonments.
As I labor again,
the backyard mulberry
has already grown tall.

You, a fruit of my solitude
the crystal of my impertinence
an adult now,
fully capable of masking yourself
with the indifferent pallor
of the moon above dew,
smiles to the world
without a trace of torment.
You've never mentioned the past
as if nothing
in the vault of reminiscence
is worthy of keeping
or of being disturbed.
You've never had a father.
Me, I am a disqualified mother.
Yet whatever happened
had already happened.
You are self-taught of life
and its plain truth.

Should I explain?
Could I?
Even if I could, how can
any forgiveness be given
to me?

Maybe you had long forgiven me.
My dearest child, I hope.

I reckon you did
as you pulled open a heavy car door
and quietly climbed to a passenger seat.
Resting a soft head beautifully
on a puffy tiger,
with a newly-gained adult seriousness,
once you said to me,
Mother, I am ready.
Let's leave this place together …