She waited anxiously on the porch

For the arrival of her newborn grandson.

When the Qilin delivered the child

Joyful tears flooded her wrinkles.

He was the family gem in her eyes,

And she was to him the sacred harbour.

He was happy in his harbour –

Learned to talk and walk on the porch

Where he played under watchful eyes

Of the woman who waited for her grandson

To grow taller faster than her wrinkles

Could fork into braided channels. The child,

Too, wished he was taller, for a child

One day needed to leave his harbour.

He took for granted her wrinkles,

And thought they were part of the porch –

Markings on a dried trunk as the grandson

Sprung up before her withering eyes.

When it happened she closed her eyes,

Her tears a tidal wave pushing the child

Across the sea, bidding her grandson

Farewell, praying for luck in a new harbour.

She waited patiently on her porch,

Holding a beacon that was her wrinkles.

A dozen years cut ten thousand wrinkles

Around the woman’s now hollow eyes.

She sat cross legged on her porch,

Praying for the return of the child.

This will always be his harbour,

He will always be my grandson.

When the tide retreated her grandson

Knew to look for her braided wrinkles –

They were the beacon in his harbour,

Where he’d once again be in her eyes,

Not a grown man, but a small child

Who cried and toddled on her old porch.

But the woman who waited on the porch

Had left the child an empty harbour

And a dried trunk marked with wrinkles.