Roasted Bread? Sparkling Water?
Which feeds her life more?
A hardened body; or
A soul like shining water.
In the late May’s party, where everyone has fun,
She, alone, whispered fragments of memory,
Mixing forgetfulness with desire,
Stirring the dreary night.
What toy hold her through that night?
Is her doll enough to hold her tight?
From her closet to a chance of sky,
She was stuck in a tunnel, all black but
With a rumbling, distant scream,
Could she see the sun again?
In the cluttered room, a stick striking her door,
She clutched the doll, knuckles tight.
Soft to the touch, strong for her heart, it still couldn’t stop
The scary blow. As the night was ending,
The roasted bread left untouched by her door,
She took a sip of the sparkling water. Nothing more.
Who gives her the doll?
I might uncover it.
We once lingered, playing chess, drinking,
Inside a reddish-brown stone house.
I tried to find her secret guardian.
From her glass of the sacred water,
Mary reached,
And the pale pink dawn, slipping from the end of the tunnel,
Caressed her doll.
Time seemed to linger,
As limpid as her ocean-like eyes.
Mary, why do you cherish this doll so?
Her “Death of Night” doll
From three years ago sat on my sofa.
Perhaps it once had accompanied your nights.
The doll she held, once locked in her tiny closet,
Punished by those controlling violent authority.
Before she told me about her best friend,
She was almost silent. I stood in the memory
On the timeworn floor. Just silence.
Why are you so fond of sparkling water?
If it is a secret, could you tell me?
A secret, like an invisible shadow,
Emerged from her life into the cave of childhood.
She aspired to be a creature of freedom,
Living out her desire to keep a pure spirit.
Who would stand by her side, a steadfast guardian?
Pain, like a piece of scorched bread, Mary had tried
To chew, until it became mere ash.
How could I know your feelings?
Running across the dazzling glaciers,
Toward the sparkling stream of Spring, I sipped,
Like her, tasting not the tingling at my tongue,
But the pain, the hardship from the ice.
Where does she go?
A secret frozen beneath the watery diamond.
June will be the cruelest month. Heat melting
The remnants of the soul. Mary, in a sweltering summer,
We spoke of the soul’s immortality.
Our talk was too much, like shadows of your dark past,
Secrets unveiled in evenings, haunted by buzzing insects.
You tried, you tried to escape
The family that bound you tight.
Mary, you once said, one day you would feel free,
And you would have your season.
Your body no longer withered and hard.
Your soul has shed the dull roots of decay.
You flew on that day when you died.
Yucheng Tao is from Nanjing and an international student studying songwriting at MI College of Contemporary Music in Los Angeles. His works have been published in Wingless Dreamer(2024 contest), Synchronized Chaos, Moonstone Art Center, and Spillword.