The next poem I'm going to read I
wrote after visiting the Chinese exhibit of sculpture
at the National Gallery of Art in Washington.
All the art students were there with their sketchbooks,
sketching the statuary.
And I was there taking notes on the little cards
under the statuary.
And my favorite was under this funerary tower.
And it said, the meaning of the figures
carrying babies in their arms is not clear.
Just the kind of statement I like best.
And I start my poem with it.
And it's just called, Funerary Tower, Han Dynasty.
In this season of salt, leaves drop away,
revealing the structure of the trees.
Good bones, as my father would say,
drawing the hair from my face.
I'd pull impatiently away.
Today, we visit my father's grave.
My mother house keeps with trowel among the stones
already at home here.
Impatient, even at 40, I hurry her home.
We carry our childhoods in our arms.