Such a windless day,
you lie on our driveway,
after sniffing on a forest trail.
I sit down, put you on my lap.
Your red curly coat glows;
your warmth penetrates my body.
Cheer up, sing the robins on a paulownia tree.
News breaks: Atlanta, gunshots at spas.
This time, Asian women in blood.
Will this soon be forgotten?
I feel the shadow of this country
under the free sun. It sinks behind pine trees.
The new neighbor crosses the street, surprises us
with a bouquet of pink and green chrysanthemums.
Click here to read Xiaoly Li on the origin of the poem.
Image: “227/365+1 Chyrsanthemum (413)” by Dave Crosby, licensed under under CC 2.0.
Xiaoly Li is a poet, photographer and computer engineer who lives in Massachusetts. Prior to writing poetry, she published stories in a selection of Chinese newspapers. Her photography, which has been shown and sold in galleries in Boston, often accompanies her poems. Her poetry is forthcoming or has recently appeared in PANK, Atlanta Review, Chautauqua, Rhino, Whale Road Review, Rockvale Review, Cold Mountain Review, J Journal and elsewhere. She has been nominated for Best of the Net, Best New Poets, and Pushcart Prize. Xiaoly received her Ph.D. in electrical engineering from Worcester Polytechnic Institute and Masters in computer science and engineering from Tsinghua University in China.
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