The Trek

So much has changed and so much hasn’t.
Here’s the river I stepped in more than twice.

I can’t see them but I know the boats
are going by in the sturdy fog,

scattering wildflowers patterned by their own fire
rather than a designer’s hand.

The bird in the shade is not the same one
last year, yet it opens its orange breast

like a feast of sunset.
I look for the other trekkers and can’t even see

the smoke from their bonfires. Bon voyage!
It’s right that I am here and not there.

About the author

Pui Ying Wong was born in Hong Kong. Her new collection of poetry, The Feast is forthcoming from MadHat Press in 2021. She is…

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Issue 24 · September 2021

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