Resistance
deborah jang
Inauguration day 2017, Oceanside, California
Wishing poles fringe the pier,
wistful wands wave and taper.
Eyes attend the tender tip,
bent low yet not breaking.
The secret of bamboo,
my father used to say,
is how it bends to wind and storm
then rights itself to sky,
its inner fiber strong enough
to stem the tides of time.
How its arc remembers grace,
resilient and wide.
How it resists the trampling boot
with elegance of spry.
Fistfuls of fish are eyed
by longbeaked fowl eyed by strangers
drawn to the strangeness who rush
to show and tell on their devices.
I cross the planks toward sundown
and silhouetted fishers
huddled with their dreams cast
into the yearn of churning blue.
I lean in, my eyes breathe prayers,
I straighten spine, and listen,
then bend back low to confide
in secrets of bamboo.
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