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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