South
i wake before dawn
the sky is the colour of sea foam over the harbour rocks
the ocean sleeps, its slow exhale lapping against the hull
inky in the darkness
autumn wind blows
the first bite of winter
dressed in the honeyed scent of osmanthus flowers
in my village they will soon begin the harvest
picking tea from the fields overlooking the strait
baking mooncakes for the festival
coating the eggs with lotus paste
they will take their offerings to Ma Cho Po and pray for our journey
for the abundance that awaits us
beyond the plantations and indenture
the coolies’ debt
No Dogs or Chinese
behind us the mountain peaks fade
the shoreline dwindles
gulls arc
flashing their white wings like ghosts
the sky spreads with split golden yolk
we raise our sails to the northern wind
and follow its song to warmer waters
where the islands dot the sea like shards of jade
on turquoise silk
and the branches of the banyan trees
coil upwards
opening their palms to the
light of the south