AGAIN, SPEAKING OF THOSE I ONCE LOVED

They all longed to have a home,

but I could only promise to try my best

to let them live comfortably.

If they were afraid of ice and snow

we’d go south of the Yangtze.

If they didn’t like a humid climate

we would move to a plain or plateau.

But they all kept an eye on the present,

eager for an actual home:

a spacious apartment that had better

have a shower and a balcony.

Only you said everything

didn’t have to come all at once

as long as we could often be

together — especially on holidays —

at least I should be home for the Spring Festival.

You hoped that uneventful days

would follow one another without pause.

Now we have our house, our lawn and woods,

the moonlight on our driveway white like frost.

Turkeys and deer frequent our backyard.

But none of these could make a home

without your nurturing.