2 min readJun 24, 2020
Tiananmen Mother
for Zhao Ziyang
The Beijing breeze whispers
mournful strophes.
Tears like the mountain rains
follow slopes
to tributaries until they become one
with the rippling waters of the Yangtze.
I am a Tiananmen mother.
My eyes have swelled
with this sadness before.
The wetness follows a path
well-rehearsed.