The Traveler's Wife: A Love Letter Poem by Jana Lee Wong

when my hair was still gold as a sunflower’s petal,
i stood idle at the university’s gate,
to watch you pass, holding my books in your hands.

you also carried red tarot cards,
black dominoes-
they foretold of our everlasting love.

we were two fearless people then,
without dislike or suspicion: humble.

at twenty-eight I married you, my love.
we built our house, the jasmine grew.
i stood patient at the threshold
to hear you turn the key.

why should I want anything more?

at forty-two, you departed
to the tree-lined streets of markham.
you dragged your feet when you went out—
on the trail now, the moss is grown,
the birds squawk loudly and out of tune.

in the city where you are, the smells of lobster delight you—
neon noise and the sidewalk sounds hold you captive,

so fresh are the smells of coconut wrapped around fried milk
which waft around the corners of the town!

so magical are the live eels swimming in their tanks,
which mesmerize you!

you see the faces of others; content,
like yourself, speaking freely,
some with loud voices and audacity

so vivacious and red are the lips of those young fools…
you have tasted of markham,
which makes you yearn for the return of truth.

i grow older… and why should I fly the distance
when you are so far away?

in your letter, my love, you say you miss me,
you say you think of me often there….

but you are lost with your love for markham

if you are coming home,
i will come out to meet you
as far as the rouge river runs.