Essay on Crying at Night
I am just like my mother. I buy books and tell myself that I am buying wisdom and at the end of my life, I own a house full of books. When I was little, I thought that the water came out of the showerhead because it was crying. This is because I heard my mother crying and thought it was the showerhead.
Ken Chen (2010)
“Dried roses…” Were these from some walk
All those years ago? Were you the one
Was with me? Did we talk?
Who else had come along?
Memory can stand upright
Like an ordered row of stiff stems,
Dead echo of flowering heads,
Roses once white, pink and red.
Back of them the blackness,
Backdrop for all our lives,
The wonders we thought to remember
Still life, still life.
Robert Creeley (1999)