FIRE
--after Adam Zagajewski
China like a dry fire in
the eyes of an emigrant. China,
a story told by the fog horn
of an ocean-going vessel. Don’t forget
the throat-burning of the sorghum spirit,
Yellow River, the sound of marching band
in the morning; chew on the thorny leaves
of betrayal; propose a toast to curses,
the frayed uniform of revolution;
remember what erases and what gets born.
A land of people so determined that
they cannot be stopped. A cow praised by a butcher
for its selfless life, a poet who drinks
with his own shadow. Land full of prophets,
suffering without explanations. Be quiet.
Listen to the unbroken wheels squeaking
through the old rut. The softness
of the mountains is reddening,
a familiar calling.
:3/9/05
