Upstream By Vanessa Y. Niu

The Rising Phoenix Review

May 1

Upstream

That is where the Baiji have gone. That
is where I am going. And upstream
is where I will let my guilt run dry,
the thick oil of being

suffused into the atmosphere. Thousands
emerge from the mouths of villages,
heads tilted upwards, voices lifted,
the search for the blue sky begun again

and this time I am not sure
it will end again. The lines in my palms
are streaked black with earth as I look
for the stars underneath our feet,

the primordial left below
immediate horizon after first sunrise—I
wonder if the first settlers along
the Yangtze river traced their palm lines,

thinking of the future, in the same
sunlight we now search for night under. Did
they predict the Baiji's migration
patterns? Perhaps they'd have known where

they are now, would be able to tell us if
they have really gone upstream—I
put my forehead against the cracked soil,
thinking of its dampness, and ask it to

awaken the old stars. My breath
does not condense in the air as it once did.
And it is empty, despite the thousand voices
reaching through to the sky, just as hands

bearing clothes, children, sickles carefully
sail through the undercurrent, sheathed
in a static, murmuring gray—I
wonder if the earth can read the future from

my palm lines and from
my mouth arises a nothingness—I
wonder if it knows—and I
pray to know how much longer I will

have to run until I see the Baiji
again.

By Vanessa Y. Niu

Biography:

Vanessa Y. Niu is a Chinese-American poet and classical singer who lives in New York City. She has written text for the modern composition scene at Juilliard and Interlochen, and can be found at the opera house, a slam-poetry session, or attending open physics lectures when not writing.