THE MUSHROOM RIVER That river is filled with mushrooms Yes, mother. The river you soaked your hands in My past flows by. The child in his red jacket exposes the skin of daylight. He is picking mushrooms on the river, his basket full of smiles Do not enter the dark misery of the forest. Mother come back to the fairy tales with me: grandma hides the wolf in your voice, baring the day's teeth It's getting dark again. Will my love get lost? Mother, my childhood is gone forever Your hands bring the sound of water brimming from my eyes Do not go the lonely path of old age. Mother Mushrooms. Butterflies dance in your silver hair The light is on. I walk towards you, along the river. The wolf in the fairy tale will die too, and the child do riffs on its teeth to go with the beautiful sounds of the road Memory pushes up like no end of pale, floating mushrooms carrying off the last of your years Go back inside. Don't stand in pain, waiting for me Remember how my poems send signals. I'll bring you songs of the vast fields I'll describe for you the mushroom river Xue Di Index |
The East Village Poetry Web Xue Di |