Tree of Jade

listen my child, do you hear the jade glistening inside,
at the crux of your heart, I’ve placed it there for you.
a sunken eye hardened from the bottom of the ocean.
I’ve woven you a silk robe to wrap your dreams in robes
so intrinsic even a needle cannot harm you. if you reach
the other side, plant the jade, its skin unfurling to tear into
a lychee tree, enough to sustain an entire generation,
children laugh with the kind of sweetness to fill a missing tooth,
the remaining teeth glazed into beacons refracting stories into tiny jewels
in the sky. under the tree, leaves can mend bruised light
and stitch torn skin. remember my child, when time chips
at the bark of your skin, dig your fingers into the scaled
shell, and pull out the dragon’s eye. bury it by the beach
where you first arrived. for every fleeing family to dress
their tongues in a new home, to call something their own,
the eye on the other side forever looking back.

Spencer Chang is a writer from Taipei, Taiwan. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Rising Phoenix Review, Rabbit, Blue Marble Review, The Daphne Review, and elsewhere.

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