Oh, to have known you young—
Mother—
with those pig tails and white kittens in your arms,
school skirts and socks pulled up to your knees,
on your bicycle, furiously chasing boys
who have just dipped your hair in red ink—
boys giving affection like boys, and you
too young yet to understand the effect beauty
has on men.
Oh, to have known you young—
Father—
catching stray cats by the tail,
chasing made-up enemies across the yards
of scornful neighbors, defying your father—
my grandfather, with the laissez-faire of Chinese youth,
roughhousing with your brothers, my uncles—
knocking out youngest uncle’s teeth
because he would not bow to you
before your friends.
Oh, to have known you young—
Mother—
at that awkward age
between a child’s body and a woman’s,
when your gifts became evident
to your brothers and your mother—
my grandmother, who felt it strongly enough
to say, “if only you were born a boy.”
Oh, to have known you young—
Father—
sturdy lad, with the broad shoulders growing
out from you like an oak stretching its branches,
testing the breadth of your reach,
learning to reach for the hearts of girls,
and breasts and thighs too, and the tacit softness—
like forbidden speech, like screaming fire
in crowded ballrooms.
Oh, to have known you young—
Mother—
when all the others were feeling the yearning, you held on
to your heart and to let your mind lead you
into womanhood. As they lined up at your feet—young men
with their hearts in their hands, red and eagerly pulsing
to feel the first heartbreak scourge
memories into them that will last into old age.
Oh, to have known you young—
Father—
tell me again how your courtship began. Tell me again
of how you won her heart. Tell me again
of the first time you pierced her eyes with that gaze—
the best trait grandmother said I got from you.
Did you see any part of me in them? I am still no good
at knowing true love when I see it.
Oh, to have known you young—
Soaking in brilliance at Sun Moon Lake,
where water and sand meet,
where boy and girl meet, hands and feet
tangled and bare in the nibble of night,
minds flooded with lips and tongues and teeth.
The passion of young love is the most important thing
we pass on.
And now mother, father,
what am here to seek?
How much of me was left behind?
Will I be welcome in the places
that you left so long ago?
Oh, to have known you young—
Before that faithful decision to cast us all across the ocean—
even me, unborn and unnamed—before the lessons of the West
took its toll, aged you and blanched your bold, gold countenances.
So long I have waited,
so long I have waited for you
to regain your well color.
