Oblation
At the foot of this mountain named burden,
I found a place to sit:
Black water as mirror, reflecting dust blue sky
and clouds too thin to hold up dreams.
I know you’d recognize this:
Under the null sky, soil trembles
far, far away. The air a thick blanket over one's airway.
Mothers rush their children home,
while their mothers rush them home over phone.
Close the gates and seal the windows. They say.
A storm is close.
A storm indeed. A fierce one
brewing over the drowning sun—
By the mountains, a shelf gathering tangerine dust.
Almost peaceful—an illusion
casted by untrimmed nature, a child's first lesson
to adulthood: Never trust words of a season.
Clouds will harden into color of gravel,
and down will fall pebbles, breaking
mailboxes and patched stables.
And at that night, when welter takes over—
Earth howls in despair in the form of thunder.
Children wouldn't cry,
mothers wouldn’t breathe, they wait—
Nature let out all aches before tomorrow.
All critters hidden, but someone must be there
to prove life is fragile.
Down will fall pebbles, shattering the sky's dark twin
into ripples, the clouds—
no longer ghosts, but jagged arms reaching to collect me.
At the foot of this mountain named burden,
I found a place to sleep.
Copyright © Jasmine Tsai | Year Posted 2025
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