Jackie Chou

Screen Doors

Mystery lurks 

behind rattling doors

Silhouettes swing 

on rice paper screens

Are they spirits of the undead?

Their voices have become my own

inhabiting the air I breathe

shadows I cannot shed

Specters at the Rosemead Community Center

I was once a girl,

warm-cheeked,

hands soft to the touch.

You'd ask me to dance,

and I'd sway and swirl

to the push and pull

of your arms.

Now there is no wind,

no shadow,

no rays of strobe light

on the floor.

Nor is there a sequin,

a bead,

a strip of chiffon

from somebody's dress,

a fallen crystal

from a tiara.

There is no footprint,

no glitter 

from shoes,

just my memories 

of father, mother,

older sister,

attending parties 

together,

their faces

glowing in my heart

like specters.