Poetry

newton said that energy is neither

created nor destroyed. in her favorite

restaurant, i can still hear my grandmother

gossiping with the waitresses 一 she used to

come so often, they fed her free of charge 一

electricity sparking in her eyes; in her old

apartment, i can hear her slippers

shuffling to the kitchen 一 my mother bit her

lip to refrain from scolding her 一 and the

tapping of finger pads against ceramic mugs; in

the hospital, i hear her rustling in her paper

gown 一 even in her prolonged exhaustion, she

never cared for the hospital robes much 一 and

scoffing at the forest of needles embedded in her

forearm. when i listen to the wind, i can still hear the

symphonies of a thousand years playing her to sleep.

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San Antonio Review (Volume IV, Fall 2020) Copyright © 2020 by San Antonio Review is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, except where otherwise noted.

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