dutiful daughter
孝順的女兒
xiàoshùn de nǚ’ér
the first time
i cried
for you:
surrounded
rotting lumber
rusting metal
uncounted flower pots, cracked
five-gallon buckets filled with the unknown
in every state of
dilapidations
caught
in tangles of stiff, cracking garden hose
and yielding unyielding baling wire
and more:
the old lawnmowers, forever silent
aquarium, holed, good for lizards
three drunken toolsheds, old companions
leaning on one another:
the maniacal, malignant vines finally
cut back
(not yet pulled, poisoned, or otherwise
dispatched)
the wild, uninvited, unidentifiable trees
cut
low enough to see the ground,
high enough to not be a tiger trap,
because you can’t see under
three-season-deep layer of lychee leaves
and dead weeds
rustling with toads, centipedes, rats,
and who knows what the fuck else
where once
we played
younger trees
and grass sprouting
(or was that my sister
and i?)
that i mowed every other week
while you
diazanoned and arseniced
and malathioned the
yard
where once we could
scrub
the valley mildew
to paint the once
seemingly larger house
itself now rotting and leaking,
a ship, run aground
a dying S.S. Minnow
where i mindlessly
cling to life
imprisoned in my
uncharted desert isle-long myland
soul survivor of this shipwreck
they (that mysterious they)
called a family
trying
to nourish myself on fond memories
and shining dreams
that i never find
in this desolation
of our
oh-so-silent
punchtuated,
loyal, obedient
responsible
reliable
chinese daughter-father
whatever you call
whatever ended
when i found you face down
and the medic said you had probably “been
gone
”
for about three days
and started the excavation
(and still going)
that
revealed
the decay
the diminution
the dissolution
of a once-solidly engineered
engineer
now decamped
and (dearly) departed
as i clean up the mess
dutiful
as a chinese daughter
must be.
