Mom’s Flower NEW

Mom's Flower NEW

Your cross-shaped cuff-link

Reflected back the mirror

Liked the death throe of Jesus

Pain with hair disheveled


You slammed down the phone

The cuff-link flickered

Flower, with the last petal

Now swaying in the air.


The air seized my throat

Liked a silvery cold knife

Or maybe some other weapon

Made in hell


You sweet with a fuchsia rivet

Sent my whole life into a tomb

At this time of every year

Remember to sweep my grave.

Wu, Shan Na

2014         BA (CPW)

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