THE SMALLEST GIRL IN CHINATOWN

Neither the smallest girl in Chinatown

nor Baptists in the cold churches of Manhattan

can imagine the starlight that falls into our chimneys

and the emerald green of the garlic leaves

that grow on our soccer fields.

Ocean, without beginning or end,

runs over the shore lined with Chinese food stands

while thousands of sperm whales hide in the silt and sand

forever separating me from the land

I loved.

Black trees in the cold snow

like women from Africa wrapped in white sheets

Birds on each limb

screech of emigration

sing of exile.

Every night

in dreams

I load my ship

with stars and grain

fill the hold with rum and hemlock

warming up the old engines

like ancient stoves.

The Lord Almighty will summon us soon

reversing the currents of the ocean, flinging us into the dark.

Cry for me

O, blind seaweed of America,

As only you can,

As only you can.

Translated by Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps