Wrinkled skin, creases of history
Pursed lips, she hardly hums
When she does, her words are mystery
我知道，别说了
At Table, we talk of victories
But she can only hear
Sometimes, we ask if she agrees
“我包了，你吃吧.”
I vow to live without her strife
Without her blemished bones
I’ll live with hearing and with sight
Without a tear-stained soul
In her room she digs through memories
Clearing out old trinkets
Gifts from 爷爷, 情场得意
Gentle, fragile minutes
Alone, at home, in these silent moments,
She misses her 老公
I read her like a poem
Eyes like slates, blank face, forgotten
Her skin crackles under embers
Sharp nails clawing raw flesh
The blood trails
In her room she digs through memories
Clearing out old trinkets
Gifts from 爷爷, 情场得意
Gentle, fragile minutes
I know she misses her 老公
I read her like poetry
Eyes like slates, blank face; forgetting
“对不起，你是谁?”
We’re alone in the living room
Silence catches our throats
My heart beats in a zig-zag tune
The cold tiles between our door frames
Draw a language barrier
These are problems I’ll never raise
Though you feel inferior
媽媽 (I’m sorry) 我吃了.
You strain your frame to smile
And take a seat at the table.
Thoughts decay in a pile
She isn’t acknowledged at home
She blends into the walls
“别打扰我，我在做工”
Out my mouth, vile guilt crawls
She lingers in my memory;
I linger by her grave
Last words shape what he used to kiss
“小姐啊，我是谁?”
Claire is a sentimental writer whose works are based on her family. She hopes to reconnect with her roots through her writing.