The woman’s last night

Inspired by Poet Du Fu

At dusk
I lodge at Stone Village.

Night officers
seize men.

An old man
over the wall, gone.
An old woman
opens the door, covering.

A shout, yet no men.
Her crying, thin, torn cloth in the dark.

I hear her step forward:

Three sons
garrisoned at the border.
One son’s letter came.
Two sons
newly dead in battle.

The living
borrow breath.
The dead
are finished.

Inside the house
no one else.
Only a baby.

The child’s mother is still here;
her skirt
is all patches and breaks.

I am an old woman,
but take me with you tonight.
I can still work,
still make the morning gruel.

Deep night.
Voices stop.

At dawn
I take the road.

Only the old man
sees me off.