Mom could have been a dancer

POETRY

by Lulu Liu

But she missed her big audition, so was
Swept with the rest into the countryside.

She insists she never slept so well
As in those dirty last years of Mao when
There wasn’t enough to eat. She says this
With a laugh, so we laugh.

It’s a warm fall evening.
We’re probably peeling something. And Dad
Will chime in to call her a real revolutionary:
The few graced in the dirt by dignity.

Mom could have been a dancer, back,
Back in 1970—tall, shy, conventionally pretty,

Her hair braided neatly like in the pictures.
It’s morning of the big day, and
Her friend stands in the doorway
Holding a pair of dancing shoes.

It’s 1970, Mao had said Leap!
And they had died in heaps in the mud.

Mom, the oldest of three, born
Of some means to a Party family,
Would skip her big audition to go
Replace them. I am

Haunted. I can’t say why. A long black braid
Swings down to the countryside.

There would be hep A
(Months to come
In the ward). Sleepless
Nights to last a lifetime.

The schools would close,
The schools would open,

Mom would bend to touch the hemp
In the fields.