When the Winds Start to Blow
(for my father)
by W. Wayne Lin

I passed the hollow trunk every day,
never heard anything,
until today:

“I do not blame you.
Like dead ashes,
no colors you can discern.
Yet you still think,
there is a soul behind those wrinkles.
For sure,
nothing I can do for you anymore,
but you did not forget me.
It wasn’t that long ago,
fluttering with sunshine, I waved;
every time you came, we swayed and played.
Now I stand still,
everyone passes me.
But sun still finds ways to say hello,
rain still comes
in time to quench my thirst.
Snow will soon dance for me.”

Hollow murmuring,
bouncing inside the trunk.
The voice is steady and low.

He is gone now.
Still, I can hear clearly,
when the winds start to blow.



“When the Winds Start to Blow,” was previously published as “Hollow Trunk” in the CAAR Newsletter in 2023.



 

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