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26 March 2007 @ 10:03 am
Tao of the Day  
My paper umbrella
tears on Sister's parked sedan chair.
Rain soaks my homespun dress.

At the gate, Sister takes
in her ivory fingers the quilt
that I stitched for Father.

My face burns with the slaps
from the years she called me useless.
I hide my rough, red hands.

"What excellent sewing!"
Eyes bright, she caresses the silk
and calls to Mother look.

Then it is I who see:
though their natures are not the same
needle must go with thread.


The Living I Ching on Estrangement (trans. Deng Ming-Dao)
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