When Branta Canadensis Go South

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

The screen on my window blurs my view, but I see
the leaves go from a fresh green to gold and vermillion. 
The air chills to make us put colorful wool over our heads,
so there’s no green apple of the red, 
and we’re a mass of emotions and flesh. 
I wonder why all my friends like blue? 

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

Only when I lay still, and examine the clouds,
I realize that clouds move. 
Clouds are like herds of elephants, 
traveling with their families from place to place, 
and no one needs a home as long as they’re with each other. 
I’ve never seen the same cloud formation in one place. 

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

My crimson rose garden evanesces, 
and my tomatoes and squashes pass away.
Life flows out of my garden like an endless flux, 
but the seeds I traded for a cow, 
metamorphose into a beanstalk reaching the sky, 
and I grieve my sacrifice for the cow. 

When Branta Canadensis Goes South

Why don’t I feel warm with you? 
Our embraces bring fatigue, 
while our conversations are so monotonous
so I wonder who I am to you, 
and who you are to me. 
They say it’s time to let go. 

Yet...

Yet my family still chatters,
egg tart aroma lingers in our kitchen, 
my sister still sings like the Gavia immer, 
the shower is always equipped with shampoo, 
gravity still pulls apples down on people’s heads, 
but everyone around me always raises me up. 

When Branta Canadensis Goes South, 
    I know they’ll come back.