There Are Words

by Zixia Liu

There are words for hunger, words for pain

words for loss, and words for joy. There is a word for

you, and one for me. Several for yellow, and

more for blue. Though, at a certain point, there are 

no more words. No words for you laughing, throwing your head

back, your irises disappear. No words to describe

my failing. No words for seeing a group of

ancient uncles all dressed up, riding the metro.

No words for overhearing my grandmother

telephoning her friends. So-and-so died, did you

hear. Or one of her siblings she likes. Remember

when mom died, I was the one who paid for her

tomb. There are no words for death, only

around. Listen, at the height of my fever I

saw my grandmother sitting on my bed, careful not to

wrinkle the bedsheets. But no words for her, either - no

sentences, no lines. And none for hunger, nor pain

nor loss or joy. A term too thin, each

surviving on itself. Daily, I sit by my desk and try to catch

air. No other words are there for love

or friendship, only "zai-wei, zai-wei!" The ancient

uncles on the metro shout at one another when 

one of them reaches his stop, and gets off. 

See you again; see you

again.