Anna's Star Light
Poetry Alive
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Anna's Star Light Poetry Alive
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Mother, What have you left in our old house? Poem by Rose's Tomb /Translate by Anna Yin Mother, you calmly put the leftover meal into the refrigerator, then little by little you scrape the dog food into Fatty's bowl. Fatty is very quiet, pretty old with fading hair. As usual, his tongue hangs from his mouth; his nostrils slightly shake and he snores. The outside world perfectly shaded away from his eyelids. His happiness appears so natural. Mother, you enter the small woods in front of our house, outstretch your hand caressing the rough bough. You stroke the tree; its bough is still young yet its bitter and astringent flavor has filled the air and it gradually spreads around the entire woods. They would never hear a fat old man whistling again. They lost their own sense of hearing among the ruins nearby and the soil beneath. Mother, you should be familiar with this place, familiar with the stone tables and benches in each corner. On the surface, there still remains that old husky man's smell. The air is dry, there isn't a single rain message. The maguey does not have a choice. It intends to be brighter, wilder, with the pose of deep affection for passion, but it can only listen to the wind on the silent balcony, unveiling its pistil longer to let the sunlight prick easily and stir a death-like silent storm. Mother, you should come back punctually in the dusk, you should rub off the fingerprints from your eyeglasses. Before the quake approaches, you should stand in front of the old closet longer, thinking among the flipped-over clothes pondering which belonged to that whistling fat old man. |
2007 Update (Copy right by Anna Yin) |
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