by Joanna Chen
England, the frosted fields at dawn.
A seagull cruising beside our car on
the Blackpool Road, en route as we are,
bodies pulsing in the brisk air. My camera
lies on the back seat but I do not need a snap

shot to remember this. Or my aunt, rigid
in my arms as I tell her we will be back, my
father standing by the window, peering out
into the dark, thinks we cannot see him, turns
away; my daughters, asleep, bending into me.
Joanna Chen is a poet and journalist. She has published articles in Newsweek, The Daily Beast, and BBC World Service. Her poetry and poetic translations have been published most recently in Poet Lore, The Bakery and Recours au Poemes.Please visit her at

© 2013, Joanna Chen