The Garden

Sherry Shu

And to see my mama,

Knelt beside the mossy roots,

Tending the delicate stems

At the earliest shade of light

Soaking the parched plants

Coaxing the vegetables out from the soil

With her calloused palms

Practicing steadfast patience 

waiting for the flowers to bloom. 

And after her nine-to-five job

She’d take in the fruits of her labour 

to make banquets appear from her fingertips

Stir-fried sì jì dòu and hand-wrapped jiǎozi, 

Roasted qiézi and mògu broth,

Aromas dancing in a pas-de-deux

Textures curling in a seductive tango

Welcoming us to the dinner table.

Her food nourishes my stomach and soul,

it sends a beat of pure joy

thumping under my sternum. 

And I know, without her, that I would starve

If not from lack of food, then from lack of love.