Karen Jiang

A Yuzu Tree

If one day, at spring’s soft edge, a yuzu tree is planted,
Sloped along the mountainside
In the embrace of full sun—living, breathing soil
Pruned and protected as snow seeks to rest on its shoulders,

Branches will unfurl bearing good fruit—
Are we not unlike this tree?

Left unattended as seasons transpire
In severe frost, measured dissipation
Brittle in the gentlest of winds,
A soft cry in silence, unseen.

On your open palm, I leave a single yuzu seed.
If, in the coming spring, you choose to root and tend this tree,
Then, in its fragrant, dappled shade and slow-mellow fruit
I will be here.

A Camellia Bud

When you open this letter

The snow will have melted away.

Inside, a camellia bud—silent, expectant—waits,

Gently wrapped in ice,

A sunset of sanguine petals, suspended

If frozen, will we live to see it bloom?
When the last ice melts,
Time will reclaim what I tried to preserve.

Should you part with the thawing snow,

I wish, one day, you will find a similar letter

One you can keep and grow.

Under a Wisteria

Branches, roots, streams of undulating light,
A wisteria redolent of age sits in stillness.
Like crystalised raindrops from gentle summer past,
In the wind, a single soul
Rests softly in lavender petals—
My dear Grandma
When you leave,
We will meet again.
Here, I promise, we can stroll hand in hand
With Grandpa every day until we reach the scent
Of our beloved Osmanthus tree.
Where does time flow?
Microseconds amble by, unhurried.
Does all life begin as dust?
All life returns to dust.

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