Unfurl
Updated: Dec 31, 2020

Making zongzi is a simple art.
No more than sticky rice
steeped in soy sauce, bloated
with pork fats and onion.
Embellished with leaves of the
lucky bamboo. He says it
keeps the body holy and pure.
Constricted, can’t unfurl.
In our language, 自己isn’t hard
to write or to pronounce.
You were wrapping zongzi when
Father read you a legend
about a girl and the moon. Fate
can't help but long for the
ink-stained wings of breathless
storms, the spiraling jade
of thunderbolts. You dream of
salvation, not of salt.
Years race past. In this millennium,
you are no longer the hare,
but the tortoise. Happiness comes
fast as ballot boxes and
shrapnel shards. Listen: the universe
favors entropy--that is to
say, freedom. These are the offices
and shopping malls and
sunset-rimmed cityscapes. This is
the beginning.