To my sister

I don’t understand time, just like that village never understood

The everlasting murmuring of the river.

Mom lighted the oil lamp,

The darkness in the small room started to float,  

Reminding me again the old boat traveling across the Grand Canal.

The beacon felt lonely for the first time,

The frosty stars were as sad as the broken wooden toys,

The wind was looking back towards the stern,

Weeping as silently as the murmuring water,

When dad told me you would not go home until next year.

2017.2.2