Friday, September 15, 2017

Late Mourning

     Cardboard and paper foil, a fully furnished house
     and stacks of gold and silver bars and nuggets burn

     for Song Yong Hua, whose mound of earth resides in shade
     cast by a single row of trees between two fields
     on a slope in the far southeast of Heilongjiang.
     Green crops fill furrows in low mountains all around. 
     Quick, the late morning’s breezes flap a cape of flames
     between the mourners and interred, who passed five days
     before her youngest child’s return.  Miranda’s one
     year in America has proved too long.  Our hopes
     for Gram to hold our baby fly with cinders flung  
     away to airy states by summer solstice winds.     

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