Sparrows gather in the back yard <br />and sit on the fence posts <br />without any necks. Last summer <br />we fed them sunflower seeds. <br />Now our own stores are so low <br />I sneak the food of birds. <br />Jobless for almost a year now <br />I sold our beloved dog to hunters <br />to pay a little rent. My wife <br />cleans the houses of others, yet <br />neglects our own. We have so little hope. <br />My boy wears my old shoes <br />stuffed with newspaper <br />to school with his friends— <br />none of them better than the rest. <br /> <br />The poems I write at night <br />do nothing to heat this house. <br />Our bodies are so cold <br />they shake as trains go rattling by. <br />The sink will not drain, and <br />I’ve already sold my tools. <br />We can’t afford a plumber <br />so I go walking down the street <br />asking the help of others. No soap. <br />At noon I slip into a little tavern <br />and sit inside the dark— <br />without a dime to my name. <br />My father’s curse when I left the farm <br />to work in the mills. “You’ll starve” <br />he called as I drove away. The chickens <br />up in the trees. An old friend <br />at the bar buys me a beer, and I <br />repay him with a smile that costs <br />me a sharp pain to the gut. <br />The sins of a father to fail <br />those who love him <br />can’t be washed away. <br /> <br />Out in the street I meet my wife <br />and her silent face scream into my own. <br />Together we walk back to our little house <br />where our young daughter Li Mei wraps <br />her thin arms around my legs.<br /><br />Larry Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tu-fu-counts-his-blessings/
