Cynthia Zhang
Written on October 18, 2015
Creek
The heart is the organ of fire.
The ocean is its case under lock and key.
This ice cased heart of the mountain
Walks clumsily along the ranges
Dubbing dirt and pebbles and
Licking dues on grass and fragile pedals.
When this mountain heart melts
Drop by drop
Under the sun over the rocky expanse,
It sighs and slips its way
Into a creek.
Clear and flowing,
This creek is the lifeline
Of meadows
Zigzagging and forever stretching
To the end of the dusk.
When creeks meet,
Fists collide and hips bump.
Creeks laugh and they join hands.
Then they stride along
Sliding through slopes
On the plateau
And sweeping away
Some rocks and tree branches.
Then creeks fall off cliffs
Bursting into white fireworks
Gagging the humming
Of the mid-summer dream of green hollows and
Announcing their coming of age
As a river.
The slow rhythm of the mother river
Ripples into pastures and
Churns in waste from
Her sons and daughters
Till the burden on her heart
Fouls her breath and
Weakens her heart beats.
Crying for her resurrection,
People pay for her transfusion
And transplant of her aging heart
Praying for her forgiveness
From her blue destination.
There, at the Chesapeake Bay,
The river dances her way to life.
After a day of reluctant intimacy and
Foolish fights with the ocean
She surrenders her heart
Reborn and filled with joy.
The endless sea embraces his lover’s
Tired body and soul
Thundering a vow
And locking forever a heart on fire
Beating with life
Into its fathomless case.
