Child                                                                                                                     —Ye Chun / 叶春 


Once I was a child born in the afternoon—
in the rain,  in the window
                                           a tree,
its nests     canteens of water.

I've marched visibly in the sun.
Mama says: stay calm.

                    Sometimes my heart
fans out of my chest
and knows I won't come back again.

Like a one-winged angel
I walk,      my bones designed, just so.

 
 
 

Pine


When your red limbs unfold like petals,
my needles are falling.

When your soles are snail chill,
my needles are falling. 

My brown-haired child, I've seen you
walk toward me bare-footed,

dreaming to be known.
I've seen you lie down on my golden needles

to be framed by your own stillness.
I say breathe, my child, breathe.

I've heard your red heartbeats,
red hoofs leaping.

 
 
 

Winter Birth

A slope of leaves and two lean trees.
Bird nests, abandoned knots.
Once we were all darkness. In white winds
we tumble. Skies widen above us.



 

(These poems are available in our store
as a broadside signed by the author.)

Ye Chun

Ye Chun/叶春 is the author of two books of poetry, Lantern Puzzle (Tupelo Press, 2015) and Travel over Water (Bitter Oleander Press, 2005), a novel in Chinese,《海上的桃树》(People’s Literature Publishing House, 2011), and a book of translations, Ripened Wheat: Selected Poems of Hai Zi (Bitter Oleander Press, 2015). A recipient of an NEA fellowship, she will be teaching at Providence College in fall 2016.

ISSN 2472-338X
© 2016