Mar 292015

by Changming Yuan


It rains a lot in Vancouver

Often does this rain remind me of

The days when you sojourned here

With my family, after Father left all of us


While walking in the rain, you would

Recall, under my big umbrella

How you once waited in a drizzle

With me in a broken basket on your back

To cross the widening river, not far

From our village when I was crying hard

For a large spoonful of flour soup (you were too

Weak and too hungry to produce any milk)


Seeing you do nothing about my hunger

The ferry man asked, Where is its mom?

I am his mother!  You replied, tears rolling down

With the raindrops on your childish face

How old are you then? – Almost 17.


It is raining again in Vancouver, and beyond this rain

Your voice echoes aloud on the other side of this world