Sarah Lao

TRANSMIGRATION TO THE END OF THE MING DYNASTY

Mid-autumn. The light that never stutters to soot.
Succession of paths I vagabond. Like Mengzi, 
my heart prefers fine patterns and righteousness. 
Satin peonies scattered over a roll of brocade. 
If I am to be the second concubine
of the second son, at least adorn me 
as the subject of a tea ceremony painting.
The morning greets the wife.
The evening greets the wife.
Courtesy, the wisp of steam I dispel 
with my breath. If action is defined 
as the opposite of stillness, is it 
still possible to act in a moving world.
Every frame is a private measure.
I slip down the staircase,
and the ground rises to meet me.
I slip up, and the generations 
rush past me. Latticework of seconds 
occurring twice. Perspective is the art 
of choosing multiple vanishing points. 
The manifold of timelines that converge 
as you fold a single clean crease.
There is a reason the Chinese write stories 
of transmigration. The soul that leaps 
from the body to venture upriver. 
What we like to call free will 
never comes cheap.

SARAH LAO is a Chinese American writer. Her poetry can be found in AGNI, Black Warrior Review, The Georgia Review, and Narrative. She is currently studying at Harvard College.