Name
by Julie Leung
When you wrote my name
the ink dripped black
Splashing hieroglyphs
onto sanguine paper
I can not understand
what has been carefully carved
in each stroke
Your good intentions
trace the journey
left to right
left to right
Every day, I write myself further away
From the East
Where we began
When you died in the year of the Dog
Father tied a piece of white yarn on my jacket
And they buried your body with my name
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Author's Note
Inspired by the grandfather who gave me my Chinese name, but died when I was too young to fully understand the meaning behind it.
A study in what is "lost in translation" so to speak.
Other stories by Julie Leung
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The poem came alive for me in the final two stanzas. Forgive me if I'm intruding, as I've noticed not many folks here actually critique, but I think the attempt at "past, pass, passed" detracts rather than adds to the poem. I guess it's a matter of aesthetics, but I really like the finish where the imagery comes alive.