Shelly K. Hu

 

 

(USA-China)

 

 

 

FIRST SNOW

 

Where are you from?

A snowflake fell by the window, on a fall leaf

The stars on its hair shine like a crown.

 

Perfection lies in the sparkling clarity,

The pale white morning light wakes up in its arrival.

I see——

The wide expanse of star river flowing in its tiny icicles,

So close at hand but too far to reach.

The dark night in its silence.

It was on top of the cloud,

Fell down from a dream.

At this moment, in the wind with the birch leaf

as if tracing the flashing face beyond time.

 

“Who are you?”

In the view suddenly flooded with rising tide, I see

the returning water from a sleepless sea.

 

 

 

MORNING DEW

 

Each drop of water is brewing a universe

the shattering of a dream in just a split second.

Sorrow is for many years later.

There won’t be another teardrop so clear and innocent.

 

 

 

AUTUMN GRASS

 

I never closely looked at a leaf of grass,

not even the shadow from the chink in the wall.

They are wild chrysanthemum, dandelion and others crowded together,

the half yellow leaves, as if the turning after prayers.

That yellowness, has a depth to it.

 

I’m in the front yard,

watering the green grass fenced inside,

glancing the decorative daisy, hyacinth, and geraniums

on the lawn in front of Harrison Bank.

All of a sudden, I saw a blade of grass pushing through the concrete crack—-

At that moment, I believe there’s a fall color

just as powerful, the outlook from a distant foreign land.

 

 

 

EMPTY CARD BOX

 

I would still open it, as if you

open the little cabin inside, a light brown

one with air hushing air.

 

I pictured–

You’re sitting by the window, looking

outside the white veil of waterfalls,

and silent rocks stared you back.

You’re meditating in the darkness under the gaze

of Milky Way, ordering the dancing words to sleep.

With a spell, you left behind the boxes of chaos and sadness,

You kept searching, for an instance, your eyes reached mine

from a thousand miles away, your sleeplessness is my sleeplessness.

« No new messages », the trembling hands said.

 

I’m still waiting for–

the sun setting in a prayer,

the snow melting at intangible touch,

the divine happiness blessed by a river of stars.

 

There’s an empty little card box inside, only you

can see it. But who, and where are you?

Someday somehow you will not be a void,

as I put down the first song in a second tongue.

 

 

© Shelly K. Hu

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Shelley Kristina Hu is a member of the Academy of American Poets, President of Windy City Poet Association, and Column Manager of Famous Poets of Poetry World. She is internationally published, and lives in Chicago, U.S.A..