bus stop twilight …
I inhale every puff
of a stranger’s cigarette,
the favorite brand
of my deceased father
Author: Chen-ou Liu
Chen-ou Liu lives in Ajax, Ontario, Canada. He is the author of five books, including Following the Moon to the Maple Land (First Prize, 2011 Haiku Pix Chapbook Contest) and A Life in Transition and Translation (Honorable Mention, 2014 Turtle Light Press Biennial Haiku Chapbook Competition), His tanka and haiku have been honored with many awards.
wing-worn geese …
this urge to leave home
to find home
waking yet not waking …
this silent heart-to-heart
with my late father
the icy bridge
over our childhood river —
at opposite ends
we look past each other
in this journey to our dreams
moonlight
trapped in icicles …
one virus variant
after another
in this new normal
breezy sunshine
on baseball’s opening day
cutout fans
lemonade stand
the play of light and shadow
on her masked face
cicadas drone
one campaign promise
after another
living alone
in the attic room
for years now
the skylight frames
my immigrant dream
a minaret
sharpened by moonlight
distant gunshots
winter sea
before refugees
beyond refugees
the edge
of the unspoken …
half a rainbow
the setting sun
floods potato fields
with crimson
a migrant looks up
at geese flying south
first light
a strand of her hair
between my lips
April snowflakes
rearrange hometown memories
in the lineup
I wait for a brand new
permanent resident card
“I’m married …”
ice cubes shifting
in her wine glass
living alone
in the blizzard
of forgetfulness …
snowflakes obscure the world
outside the nursing home
black coffee
on New Year’s morning
spangles of sunlight
budding blossoms…
a love poem for no one
in particular
a river behind the graveyard forget-me-nots