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birth, death it’s all the same


Egg Island

birth, death it’s all the same

in a distant hamlet nestling
twenty four days
past the solar calendar
fruits drink from the source
equinox flowers have their own mind

the festival of seedling stars
music, flowers, incense
central ceremonies to commemorate spirit
income offerings rise and fall
all remembrance has connection

duck eggs broken over tombstones
shells lost in graves
candle lighting worships surnames
parchment and silver paper
lit to honor ancestors
weeds burn and then the forest

descendants of lush auspicious signs
believe in the fortune of childbirth
longevity payments made
to surrounding soil
a hoe mixes eggshells into the ash

calamities have befallen
the exiled hero seeks auspicious signs
a hollow tree, switchgrass
yet there’s nothing but desolation
and a forgotten tomb festival
that she alone attends

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Magpie Tales – Mag 112

Also posted on:

B is for Butanding

Photo Credit: djajakarta