Two Poems

The Mandarin Duck in Central Park

The ice expands, the water shrinks in the shadow

of the Plaza Hotel. The dazzling drake,

a vagrant showboat of gemstone colors,

holds his purple mohawk high. Native

mallards and wood ducks circle him.

He cuts through their staring,

glides into the unknown, snaps at

those closing in with his hot pink bill.

No one shouts: Go back to your own country!

No one asks: Do Chinese men have smaller dicks?

An unlikely migrant, his neck stretches emerald.

Where is warmth in this white winter land?

Philosophy, Art, etc  

Yeye took me for a walk every day.
He would say words hard for me
to feel such as Philosophy and Art.
So I named him Arty. As he sat
to smoke, I’d have time to
sniff around, pick hawthorn leaves
to ease my stomach, and seek
smooth trunks of tall sycamore trees,
to leave traces to set my mark.
After a cigarette, Arty sang
Peking Opera. I mimicked the tune
until he laughed to tears.
A specialty between us.

Sometimes we wouldn’t be home until
crickets chirped under the fading sun.
Mom often gave me a whole egg:
You keep Grandpa healthy.

They shouted at each other
once in awhile and had red faces.
You are my forever love,
he said to me.

I’ll make a contract
with you for the next life,
he extended his hand
with clear vein on it,
I gave him my paw.

________

Xiaoly Li is a poet, photographer and computer engineer who lives in Massachusetts. Her poetry is forthcoming or has recently appeared in Chautauqua, Rhino, Atlanta Review, Whale Road Review, Rockvale Review, Cold Mountain Review, J Journal and elsewhere.  She has been nominated for Best of the Net, Best New Poets, and Pushcart Prize. Xiaoly received her Ph.D. in EE from Worcester Polytechnic Institute and Masters in CS from Tsinghua University in China.