Editor's Choice 3/26/19
"This poem comes alive when you read it aloud. The language is rich with paradox, imagery, metaphor, and sensory language. Though each line inspires a different daydream, as a whole the piece creates a vivid impression of a place that somehow feels both foreign and familiar." - Jessica Weible, North/South Editor
I was born in
the hometown of wind,
where it is windy constantly.
Throughout dark nights/ and bright days;
where meteor streaks across even
with a strong blowing,
breaks into glistening lakes
on the colorful ground around.
Migratory birds are confused easily:
Winter and summer are very short
While warmth is long,
Seasons cycle unusually;
Homesick seawater goes upstream frequently,
assisted by the wind
to embrace the snow mountain
and fall in a serene sleep ahead.
There grains grow so quickly,
golden sunlight in the field
satisfies/ all tongues and granaries.
The rest of the time people read poems,
boil the wine* and laugh joyfully,
ride the wind to roam distantly.
There women’s hair dances around
like blossoming fireworks/ or flowers;
There blooms are longer than elsewhere,
no disconsolate lovers.
Tears waft far away soon
after they stream
and are a rainfall to moisten desires.
Wind shuttles everywhere,
seeds, longings, dreams
and perfume of lives,
as dandelions root anywhere,
grow in an instant
into what they once expected.
Eternal souls wander with the wind
among the timeless future, reality and past
like shadows following the moonlight––
neither part in life,
nor separation by death,
for/ it is the hometown of wind.
*Boiling the wine is a custom in ancient China and even in some places of current China, which intends to warm the wine. After boiling the wine, some fruits such as greengages and preserved plums are added into the hot wine. People wait to drink the wine until the tart flavour of the fruits disappears.
Min Katherine Liu