Moonlit Night
- As the crescent moon rose
- in Hangchow
- I stood on an arched bridge
- connecting
- two sides of the Grand Canal
- where red lanterns glowed
- one by one,
- hanging from the window sills of houses
- with white walls and black roofs.
- A light suitcase in my hand,
- staring at one of the houses
- that I called my home,
- I quietly said Goodbye
- and recalled the old Chinese saying
- that Grandpa had just taught me
- Every family reunites
- when the moon becomes full.
- In the distance,
- trailing candlelight,
- carrying my hopes,
- wish lanterns floated
- and vanished
- where water flowed into the night sky.
- Where water flows from the night sky,
- wavering bare branches
- on Toronto Islands
- hold the full moon
- that brightens
- a screen of snow.
- Each snowflake, a brick,
- turning Toronto Bay into a white castle.
- Skyscrapers. Stadiums. CN Tower.
- In one of a high-rise’s small units,
- my temporary home,
- I stare out my window
- at Lake Ontario
- between the islands and the bay,
- a message notifying me
- of Grandpa’s passing on my cellphone.
- I recall the saying that Grandpa
- taught me sixteen years ago
- and ask the same moon
- Isn’t the saying a lovely lie?
- Isn’t everyone a passer-by?
- hearing snow’s whispers
- dissolving
- into the undulating reflection
- of the silent moon.
Photo graciously provided by Aleksey Kuzmichev from Unsplash.
