Dreaming in Chinese
It hasn’t happened yet.
But I wonder
what it would be like
to dream in Chinese.
Maybe induced by
the smoke of lapsang souchong
or fire of rice wine, mijiu.
Would I find myself
standing on a corner
in old Shanghai singing
a song to the moon
in Mandarin?
Buying a bright-throated bird
in the market, maybe
a hua mei to stroll with;
serenade my mornings.
Fishing for mottled carp
from a low wooden boat
on the Yangtze.
Dipping a brush to paint
a mountain landscape
disappearing into the mist.
Colin Goedecke
Convent Station, New Jersey
May, 2016