GRASS ROOTS Poem by Zheng Xiaoqiong

Twilight spreads, a layer of ash-gray iron melts July
Returning to lychee woods, everything is empty and silent . . . flying bugs of July
And a drop of blood pools at the tip of a grass blade, a slanting red
When short, grass stalks drop their heads
And see a drifter's heels
In Silver Lake Park, encountering a plume of grass with purple-blue flowers
Moonlight hears the sounds of flowers, blooming and fragrant

Pale flower of July cannot hold on to the moonlight over Silver Lake Park
By the lake at midnight I listen to a blade of grass weeping, it is a
Drifter on the road, briefly
Vanishing into the dark

A street lamp illuminates grass tips and my footprints
We share the same name, oh
—Grass roots

In the depth of green grass, under the lychee trees
My friends and family
In this homeless strange land, I grow like a blade of grass
At the twilight when the universe falls silent, a night wind blows
But cannot blow down our heads