Last Month on Angel Island

after Quok Shee

My mother in Nom Moon knows nothing of this.
She said, "He is your husband."

In the dark hold of a ship far too small
I close my eyes and see bamboo.

Every hour is danger here, when no one hears
the metal moonlight sounds of the cellblock.

He left me with these tall blind men,
never told me of his childhood.

"You will go," they say, "I won't," say I,
I say, "He is my husband."

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