[white]

by Changming Yuan

out of thick clouds
like mountains of inflated cotton
high above spring fog, much
lighter than the snow of last year
a biblical dove flies, soaring around
as if unable to find a place
to perch on land, where reed flowers
grow tall in the fields of salt, where
ivories float around
in rivers of milk

while all colors are present in this kingdom
no pale surface absorbs any light
as in the background of
each traditional chinese painting

[point of view]

by Changming Yuan

no, no, no
no more do i want to be
a chinaman, brown-visioned
with all my yellowish
outlooks, yellowish sentiments

nor do I intend to be
a red-skinned big-foot
with my ancestors' vast land
all occupied by foreign devils

nor a rising black star
with evil pale-faced memories
nor a big white boss
with all the world's politically correct dollars

rather, I prefer to be a tiny rock
sitting still at a hilltop, or on the roadside
watching, observing, even whistling
when there is a wind blowing hard