Rare Books & Special Collections, UBC Library
We crouch beneath the mulberry tree,
leaves fluttering nervous whispers.
The firebirds’ song – a shriek of metal blossoms
bursts through the darkened skyline.
Mother grips my arm, her voice a taut wire,
“Don’t look up. Go inside.”
We hunch around a sweating flame,
praying for father’s letter from Saltwater City,
a place so far, the words are scribbled on tissue
to be cheap and light as air.
“He’s alive, but can’t send money…” she murmurs,
her bony frame bent across the window
to keep the sky from collapsing in.
Father, a ghost in the photograph,
creased and seared by sun, is speechless
as our world convulsed
as I lost the contours of his face.
Such was our sentence,
enforced by foreign laws that scorned
our “Celestial” features, our family bonds, our right to exist.
The Chinese Exclusion Act would be a slow, interminable burn,
a summary execution of my family – no trial, no last words.
Amid furious streaks of light,
she cut my hair and put me in boy’s clothes.
The ancient city smolders under Japanese fire.
I squeeze her hand,
the warmth slipping away,
a mirage in the scorching iron rain.
April Liu is a curator, author, and cultural programmer who is passionate about sharing stories of Chinese Canadian history and heritage. She is currently the Manager of Public Programs and Education at the Chinatown Storytelling Centre in Vancouver, B.C.