I’ve never seen pigeons argueI only see them soarI don’t know if a pigeon is naïve or worldlyI just know it has no past to make it toil through lifeMaybe they’re the tongues of the airLazily expressing cars’ sighsMaybe they’re lined up on the roofVying to perform snow’s weddingOne day I stick my head out the windowAnd realize their nation is the act of soaringSoaring makes my silence meaninglessThank god, they’ve taught me how to talk about nations!Standing under a flock of pigeons, I think ohPeople aren’t even worth one flower blooming toward them
Copyright © 2019 by Huang Fan and Margaret Ross
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Founded in Chicago by Harriet Monroe in 1912, Poetry is the oldest monthly devoted to verse in the English-speaking world. Harriet Monroe’s “Open Door” policy, set forth in Volume I of the magazine, remains the most succinct statement of Poetry’s mission: to print the best poetry written today, in whatever style, genre, or approach.