meet me there, Mẹ—meet me in the city of windows—
lift me up to the window—children, crayon, fowl, blast,
this only day, and only ever softly—meet my love below

to take her lovely to the market, the looking glass sews
night’s lilac lights of time, look—eyes are hands at last,
meet me there, Mẹ—meet us in your city of widows—

a mother not a country, not a dream—to what do I owe
distrustful image—frigid harbor deeper north, just past
this truest night, a day on other worlds, I tend to groves

in the labyrinth, passing mossgrown cathedrals, we’ll go
to the machine shrine, war things sunken in ryegrass—
meet us there—laugh with Nova in the city of ghosts—

sow her in your soil, fingers, ears, hair—rose, swallow,
thorn—give her a list of lists, then seeds, shadows cast
on a lunar baby—and where is your daughter below

the hunt—left to my stolen years—lift me now, grown
to the window, opening windows, a rock to their glass,
we’ll find you, Mẹ—time editorial, soaring silent road
over crescent fires, with violent love, this migrant love

Sammy Lê is a poet and bartender from Houston. He earned his MFA from UMass Amherst, where he was a Rose Fellow and taught creative writing. His work is published in Poet Lore, Black Warrior Review, swamp pink, and Strange Horizons.

Lotus Leaves