There's some kind of festival today – I don't know what for But a rain of yellow flowers keeps falling, like confetti All the trees are flowering With their faces open, turned toward us – turned almost Inside out, and ready to die at a touch. I touch one and get a handful of eggshells Brittle and thin, and white threads and slim pistils. It was hot and got hotter As we walked between two buses Blowing hot air from the exhaust pipes Kate says, I wish I was on an air conditioned bus Heading for the middle of nowhere For a lake with giant ships Stacked tall as thunderclouds In the midday heat I saw the preciousness of fountains How they give themselves freely, and watch it all return With a patience untouched by the fevers of time And calling to my own fountains The well water left in me from last winter's end Because this, I realized, was what I want to be in her life When everything burns The pool of cool, drinkable water Hidden deep in the shade *
Mike Zhai was born in Shanghai and grew up on the West Coast of the United States. He lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan and is the founder and facilitator of One Pause Poetry Salon.
Read more Mike Zhai poems published in Orange Quarterly: