by Dena Rash Guzman

In Soo Chin's garden,
honeysuckle vines choked a
fronded mesquite.

I absorbed the last starlight
of the Year. Soo Chin brought
tea and confusing wisdom -

"My grandson is not your mirror.
He'll see that when his eyes turn
inward. When I was a boy in China
I loved a good woman too, but I
married Mrs. Chin instead."

All around us the New Year gathered.
Rain whispered miles high in clouds.
It told us, "You never will know."