Poetry: “Tayaki Elegy” by Cynthia Gan
Tayaki Elegy
Rust smells sharp, as does crumbling foliage
and stinging taste of childhood on my tongue.
My mother returns from the Asian supermarket,
bearing plastic bags of sticky haw and
ice-cream fish. She sits
with me on the carpet, unwrapping fruit and
placing sacrifice between forgetful teeth.
//
I tongue gossamer memories, am
reminded of the creases in my knuckles and just
how far they have travelled to meet me
in this strange and foreign land;
my mother tells me, do not be
afraid: 不要怕
and I learn of the dichotomy between
heart, and mouth I speak with.