The Temple, The Wine Tasting, The Lonely Ghosts ~ By Dana Fang

Carp between the rafters
sleek circles my palms press.
Purple are plums that fall into their
mouths. Sometimes, I tell my father,
carp can be carnivorous. When they 
are too hungry and the plums 
are not ripe they eat each other. 

Distilled wine, sweet rice
every drunk around the table
will hand my father another
cup--
           creased are the curtains 
           of the moon, slim carp
           chase the walls of the pool.

I am not a fool Baba
lunatics are made by years
spent away from the river.

My father, eyes stained by starlight
says something about the weather.
What about it Baba? In the summer
we will travel to the province: 
river north, northern river, river north
see old friends who have been drowned
up to their necks in yellow water.
I’ve forgotten how to pronounce it
without accent long ago. Fish resort to
suicide in the heat. How do you
say goodbye I ask Well he says there are
many ways one of which is to
build a bridge and never
cross to the other side.


Author Bio:
Dana Fang is currently a third-year student at Oberlin College majoring in Creative Writing and English Literature, with a minor in Studio Art. She is also passionate about comics and book-arts.