Night Drive Through My Own Life – Hua Xi
I was so blank a gust of butterflies
could have migrated through me.
In conversations with my mother
I have no idea who is dead anymore
when I play the tape back
and hear only
my own voice which has become a farmland.
I was driving at night
through a lifetime
that was not my own.
That was a long time ago.
And the twilight elms
rustled up against each other,
I kept turning around to get a good look
at the someone who I was yesterday.
Her, in the portrait.
Here I’ll stop for a while just
to watch the last winter on the branch
become an orange,
watch our memories
Now she is an actress
in a falling scene.
Now she is busy
with something other than being alive.
Hua Xi is a writer and artist. Their poems have appeared in Boston Review, Guernica and The Nation.
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