AnYi 安亦

It all comes back to our fathers;

Is it his belt and beatings?

It all comes back to his silence and swears;

Or is it his words?

Maybe it’s his quiet face, or maybe it’s his head that’s always bent.

Maybe it’s the cold midnights without moons or electric lights.

He would stroll across the stones with which he struck,

And then he would love me, and leave me in pieces.

In the end we both break and crack and burst in to flames,

And then I would love him.

It all comes back to our mothers;

Is it her blood, or flesh, or jealousy?

It all comes back to her daggers and needles;

Or is it her words?

Maybe she was always wandering in her sleep, or maybe she never walked.

Maybe it was I who dreamt it all, and she never spoke.

She would go on to look beautiful and smile in the crowds,

And then she would kill me, slowly, till I am born.

In the beginning we both kneel and open our uteruses,

And then we would forgive.

It all comes back to our brothers;

Is it true that they were here?

It all comes back to their replacement forms;

Or is it their words?

Maybe they went to my old school, or maybe they ran wild.

Maybe they put balm on their scars, or maybe they never healed.

But I named their births and sealed their graves,

And then we would be happy, and even loved.

But they would never break out of the mirrors,

Because then they would exist.

It all comes back to my children;

If you were ever real, or mine.

Maybe it’s your hungry cries, or maybe you are just lost.

Maybe it’s being loved as you deserved, and always given food.

But I carved you out of earth and wood one day,

And then who’s to love you as their own?

Or did I tear you out of my deepest sleep?

Because then we could live.