If I should lose you in the supermarket,

I will search for you among wild flowers.

hydrangeas coaxed from an empty blue-glass vase

jasmine hair mist diffused into the medicine cabinet

the peonies you planted bursting on the porch

only to be nutrients for the next nomadic deer

                               you try again next year.

the time the flowers wilt, it is time to dye your hair again

I sit crouched over your bamboo shoot body

searching for my roots in your silvering ones

your mother who hunted her dreams across seas

and picked her teeth with the squirrel fish bones

of her crumpled heritage

the fig tree my father’s mother gifted our front yard

whose fruits ripen too late, out of touch with Pennsylvania winter

                       you mourn them every year, fingers pinching empty stems

                       shadows where salads should have been

                       you water the branches anyway.

what I mean to tell you is this: my love is not seasonal                                            

                                                    (I’m sorry I don’t say it enough)

you, with Chinese lullabies

and hair too coarse to braid

and head-thrown laughter

and constellations on your skin

are everything that is evergreen

I see you in skylights, Amma.

                           as the scent of steamed dumplings floats from the kitchen

                                    as the hydrangeas bloom in their blue-glass vase

                                              I find the jasmine in your hair on a breeze.

Won the Sidney Cox Memorial Prize as a part of the poetry collection Along Family Lines 

Dartmouth College Department of English & Creative Writing, spring 2025