Misapprehension by Anni Liu

by Anni Liu

Misapprehension

When, seventeen years later, I return, I discover my father

walks faster than I can keep pace, knowing more than I do

about what time means and what distances we must

cross.  Seeing him round the lake’s edge, as if alone, without

the anomaly of my presence, I want to ask him: Who

taught you to look at a bird? When did you first recognize me

as your own?  The first time I lost him was in the market

when I took the hand of a man who was him

until he looked down with another face.  I was afraid then,

too.  Now I stop on the path.

All the long minutes of my absence materialize, pulse

with each step he takes toward the rest of the world.

Who is abandoning whom?

Strangers pass around me, they to whom I have no obligation.

Now the man that is him stops, too, and not finding

me, makes his way back through the crowd

toward where I wait. When he sees me,

who will I be?

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from Border Vista, NYC, Persea Books
Copyright 2022 by Anni Liu

For more about Anni Liu and her poetry, read her biography at this link. To purchase Border Vista, go to Bookshop.org.