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 When the wind blows, my hat wants to leap off my head
Wants to pour out the shadows inside it
To embrace the lowly fate of grass
It doesn't like how I honor it, raising it high
It wants to be a willow branch, bending down
Seeing how naked the flowers and bugs are
How litter and spit have their sorrows too
How could my hat know the head in its mouth
Is really a big muddy tear?
I sit at a windy spot in the mountains
Knowing my hat is a bird longing to reenter the flock
Knowing I've bored my hat for years
When the wind blows my hat to the ground
Proud me is forced to bow my head--
When I pick up my hat, I see
My hat is my childhood self
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Author:Huang Fan
Publication:Chicago Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Jun 22, 2019
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