Autumnal Epilogue
Jessica Zhang

We end these days with boxes, letters,
     A row of saints
          and their candles.
There’s no less incense here
     Than a village in Nepal: 
A boy on the hill, 
     His hand on his brow; a happy mouth 
Before the autumn, cloaked in northern leaves--
     The onset of shorter days and allegories. 
Months ago, I imagined this moment. 
     Before you were dying
And there was no coming back from it, 
     Before the hushed drive 
Through miles of empty pasture, before 
                                                                     they burnt your body 
And the Bibles you owned, 
                          The air was warm in Kathmandu 
And your sister had just been born. 
                                             I’m still stunned by it.
Maybe night will set on the golden coast
                           And I’ll write again. 
             Maybe I’ll remember another verse, 
Far from where you are. 
                                         In your room, 
               In a picture frame adorned with marigolds, 
                                           The shepherd counts his herd  
                            While we dream of you. 
Your absence teaches us nothing. 
             You leave us in poverty, 
Scraping out our albums 
                        For another glimpse, another sound, 
              I imagine 
That if we could find you again 
                           And steal you from the guillotine of time, 
Then we could throw off the flowers, the linen sheets, 
             The roses I placed against your arm, 
                                         What is now dust scattered in Maryland. 
Then I could read these endless papers and books 
           Without stopping. 
Then you could walk this cold Earth again 
              And I would not trade my wisdom for anything. 
I would not surrender you to heaven.

Jessica (PO '29) is only a poet when she's having a difficult time. She is mostly an academic, even on the weekends. ​