xiāng is shǔ (millet) + gān (sweet) —

maturing grains

and all worthwhile things.

it’s the fragrance of Māmā’s braised pork,

sweet and warm,

melting in your mouth.

it’s the freshness of spring

carrying scents of lavender,

mixed among newly cut grass.

it’s when you lift the lid of the rice cooker,

when you open an oven filled with baked bread,

when you lie down in an open field,

close your eyes,

and drown—

xiāng is when you sleep for a full ten hours

and wake up, feeling

like you could take on the world.

it’s incense and spice, offered

to the ones you can see and the ones you can’t,

filling every corner of the room.

it’s a woman and her beauty

and a good name,

enduring as a photo or fleeting as a kiss.

“so what is xiāng really?” I hope you may ask,

and I’ll say it’s all this and more.

it’s a tug in your heart, a familiar rush,

it’s all that reminds you

of home.

Biography

Joy Mao is an English literature student who especially enjoys reading fiction of all genres and forms in both English and Chinese. When not reading or writing, she may often be found experimenting in her sketchbook, playing an instrument, or attempting to bake a cake.