wood & would’ve-beens
Graphic by Kerrie Zhu
Today I learned the history
of my people. Of how their story survived
in blocks of wood I now hold—how, in times of
strife, they turned toward nature
to be understood.
Today I learned that history
can be as small as a weaver’s pin
or an old bottle filled with life
or a bracelet of yarn so thin
like a Florentine wishbone at night.
I watch the movements
contained in these blocks of wood—
how my miniature monkey model
journeys toward 西天 from his 水帘洞;
how the hooves of my wooden horse
kick
as it brings success swift & quick.
Today I ache for the history
of my people—for the woods would’ve been
a statement of prosperity & craftsmanship
instead of a cheap medium for street-sold
stereotypes
at tourist sites—
for the northern woods protected us
from foreign fights
until they faltered under brute forces
from the West—
the West that Wukong longed for
& risked his life to reach, became colonized by
the same West that slaughtered millions in the next millennium—
for 木 sounds exactly like 目,
yet the limbs of the still wood spread
like stories while the moving gaze held still
like a bookshelf, tacitly waiting
to be filled—
still, we can’t seem to do anything
but tacitly wait &
watch our woods
become
would’ve beens—
& then it’ll be too late.
Cindion Huang ’29 (cindion_huang@college.harvard.edu) is missing dishes from Shanghai, her home, as she writes this piece.