一期一会
They didn’t make it to the sea — not all together, not all at once,
three silhouettes on sun stripped log facing a bone-needle horizon,
lifeline made of space between light and water skin of peach against palm
three silhouettes dance in the waves, their laughter the sounds of water over stones and shells,
tossed salted glimmering
sand thrown by feet soaring into the air, one great
leap as bodies curl around themselves in laughter
༄
laughter the only pain they ever wanted,
only pain that bloomed into a desired place of return
caught like petals between the teeth staining them pearl and magenta
༄
one silhouette says i knew we’d make it
another asks if they remember the story of the lost dog with a flute in its mouth
a final voice says in the end everything returns to the sea
༄
they watch the tides long enough to decide the sound of them
may only be understood
in the silence after,
the gentle rings of sea foam clutching each grain of sand, bitter plum against the tongue, like ice cream in paper wrapping melting on the corners of mouths
༄
do you remember the tea spilled on the kitchen table
i remember the salt water river outside the window
and the coke bottle left empty by the couch
sound of the dog, sound of a joke cracking a funny bone
three friends sit before the glass window
bank overlooking the river winding into a city
made of cigarette smoke, flowers woven from ivy, pastel paint
༄
on slow days,
one rises at low tide,
one at high tide,
one when the moon was brightest against clouds of weed
drifting by the balcony
༄
sometimes they speak of birds
the way they cried, the way they fell,
the way they broke water
as their wings shivered like new laughter:
how high do you think they can go
they must feel most alive the moment before
they pierce water, their wings open up and up
is that what’s it’s like to feel free, caught between breath in and breath out,
mud and light, beak and bone, brine all weightless suspension
༄
they fall into silence on the broken sofa
shoulder to shoulder
one pair of glasses, one baseball cap, one ponytail,
each wonders:
will you remember me
until the threads of thought dissipate into sea glass,
acoustic sounds and the occasional feeling that being young was
no longer a state of mind, but a place to be
made by small hands and impending nostalgia, cookie crumbs left of the table
and one more episode of an old show, one more song from the album
three friends cut from a silhouette of the sea
This poem is from the book The Dog with the Flute in its Mouth by Emily Anna King 锡萍芳 (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/the-dog-with-the-flute-in-its-mouth-by-emily-anna-king-锡萍芳/
The Dog with the Flute in its Mouth negotiates #heritage and the new life it takes on in the space of absence. The collection follows the journey of the narrator, the child and the Dog with the Flute in its Mouth as they search for the sound of a name and a way to return home. It represents a deep love that both creates and bears witness. Along their journey, they discover the stories of:
萍 Ping duckweed, wandering, traveling
梦 Meng dream
美 Mei beauty
爱 Ai love
红 Hong red, red thread
家 Jia family
Come home, please. Come home.
May our story become yours.
Emily Anna King (锡萍芳) is a recent alum of University College Cork’s Creative Writing graduate program in Ireland. She currently teaches creative writing and English at Wilbraham and Monson Academy in Western Massachusetts.
Her most recent publications are found in Tír na nÓg, Massachusetts Best Emerging Poets 2019 (Z Publishing), Pamplemousse, Lily Poetry Review, Paragon Press, and Otherwise Engaged Journal.
While her work often explores the Chinese American adoptee experience, she is also passionate about the intersectionality between language and music.
Besides writing, she loves spending time with family and friends, playing tennis and baking.
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