Celebrating a Chinese poet

 

“TO LIVE IS TO SHOUT AT THE SKY”

(With apologies to Nianxi Chen, whose title I have appropriated)

 

I woke because I had heard my name

Muttered in the lyrics to “Diamonds and Rust.”

I’d fallen asleep over an article about

A Chinese miner, an explosives worker, who

Had also been a poet. Waking, I sat, a dog

Curled against my haunch, my customary

Middle aged position, the middle finger

Of my right hand holding closed my right eye.

The second knuckle curled against the lid, thought-

Lessly, holding down a broken window shade

That keeps flapping up.

Aging as my father did

THE SMALL SIGNS I’M GROWING OLDER EXACTLY AS MY FATHER DID

Liver spots on the backs of my hands. Loss of
Interest in watching television, greater interest
In listening to other people. Occasional random
Missed strips of white whiskers from shaving, standing
Out because they’re whiter than my hair. Driving onto
And then back off the pavement. Forgetting keys,
Glasses, addresses, names, my own age, children. A large open spot
On the top of my head anyone looking down would
Understandably mistake for a UFO crop circle.