Bridge

By Xiaoly Li

A golden bird on a branch of Flos Mume,

an ox-horn boat on my bookshelf—arced
together by an abutment—a gift for the bridges
my Gung Gung designed. He visited me a decade ago

in the night. Vivid & young, he wore the same
flat hat, face shining…I’m doing well over here.
Tell your Po Po, I come to see her often.

He then visited his granddaughter, turned on
her apartment lights for several nights—until she sent 
a giant teddy bear to his mourning hall overseas.

Each year on his passing-day, my Po Po sets out two pairs
of chopsticks, two bowls of rice with braised carp,
and peaches, tangerines, watermelons—his favorites.

Blessed through breast cancer, heart failure,
COVID-19, she bows to him, hands together.
Nine lives, said the granddaughter.

I’m healing too. I hear a twittering—the golden finch soars,
settles on a thistle flowerhead in our rock garden,
picks one piece, throws it, another…another…until

 air is full of floating whites…

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Xiaoly Li is a poet, photographer and computer engineer who lives in Massachusetts. Her poetry has recently appeared in Spoon River Poetry Review, American Journal of Poetry, PANK, Atlanta Review, Chautauqua, Rhino, Cold Mountain Review, J Journal and elsewhere; and in several anthologies. She has been nominated for Best of the Net twice, Best New Poets, and a Pushcart Prize.