The River of Gold

He walked into the river gingerly
until the water lapped on his waist
like clouds blown apart. His basket
pulled his weight down, balanced
by the wooden hoe he held carefully.
I remembered him bent over the water,
still like an old heron. The blade
of his hoe cleft the surface
that closed immediately, striving
to hide a secret; then drifted up
the dumb sound of rocks, swallowed
by waves that tore at his thin body.
I waited on the riverbank, more excited
than having escaped school to witness
his endeavor. Every twist of his muscle
was joy fleshed out and every hour
hallowed till the sun dropped into water
like gold captured in a stone.

We marched home past rows of vines
and hawthorn trees, proud like soldiers.
How we laughed! Our laughter’s sailed
across twenty years and lands here now, 
scattered among reeds where I sit, listening;
before me, the river runs bypassing hills
that hulk into my father’s golden ravine.

AIDEN HEUNG

Aiden Heung (he/they) is a Chinese poet born and raised on the edge of the Tibetan Plateau. His words appeared recently in The Australian Poetry Journal, Cha, Parentheses, and Poet Lore, among other places. He can be found on Twitter @AidenHeung. Visit his website for more information.