We are waiting for you, little one,
rag doll made of our skin, blood, hair,
and cotton thread spun eons ago.
We hang like bats in the eaves,
copulating with time, moving
to the passion of memory
and the rhythm of earthly longing
which we have left behind for you.
–excerpt from “The Ancestors Speak,” first published in Bloodroot and Imagination and Place: An Anthology. Translated into Chinese and published in New Poetry Appreciation.