Forgive me for thinking I saw br the irregular postage stamp of death; br a black moth the size of my left br thumbnail is all I've trapped in the damask. br There is no need for alarm. And br br there is no need for sadness, if br the rain at the window now reminds you br of nothing; not even of that br parlor, long like a nave, where cloud-shadow, br wing-shadow, where father-shadow br continually confused the light. In flight, br leaf-throng and, later, soldiers and br flags deepened those windows to submarine. br br But you don't remember, I know, br so I won't mention that house where Chung hid, br Lin wizened, you languished, and Ming- br Ming hush-hushed us with small song. And since you br don't recall the missionary br bells chiming the hour, or those words whose sounds br alone exhaust the heart--garden, br heaven, amen--I'll mention none of it. br br After all, it was just our life, br merely years in a book of years. It was br 1960, and we stood with br the other families on a crowded br railroad platform. The trains came, then br the rains, and then we got separated. br br And in the interval between br familiar faces, events occurred, which br one of us faithfully pencilled br in a day-book bound by a rubber band. br br But birds, as you say, fly forward. br So I won't show you letters and the shawl br I've so meaninglessly preserved. br And I won't hum along, if you don't, when br our mothers sing Nights in Shanghai. br I won't, each Spring, each time I smell lilac, br recall my mother, patiently br stitching money inside my coat lining, br if you don't remember your mother br preparing for your own escape. br br After all, it was only our br life, our life and its forgetting.