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Best Poems From
YEN CRESS
(3/9/43)
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37.
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The Fair Sisters of Law
Some say the Lady Justice binds her eyes
To fairly judge, impartiality
The trait that makes her truly fair and wise.
Oblivious of nationality,
Financial status, creed, or social class-
Whatever makes a woman, man, or child
Distinct from any other in the mass-
The Lady is not easily beguiled.
The law, the facts, the testimony true,
The witnesses' descriptions, line by line,
And learned counselors, who try to woo
That Lady with demeanor palatine,
Are all she knows: These with her scales she weighs.
Accused, the prison's prey is brought to court
To wait for Justice, with her shrouded gaze,
To lift her scales and measure truth's report.
If Lady Justice finds one faultless still
Of doing wrong, of breaching legal walls,
The sound of freedom's chimes will send a thrill
Through watchers gathered in the hallowed halls.
A guilty verdict tolls a deathly knell
Or spells a sentence of imprisonment:
No sweetly ringing sound like freedom's bell,
But peals both fearful and magnificent.
The Lady Justice will not abdicate
Her queenly throne, resolving to fulfill
The duty of determining the fate
Of those who come before her worthy will,
But liking not to stand alone, prefers
The Lady Mercy to participate
And share the jurisdiction that is hers:
More wisely, thus, the two cooperate.
For though the eyes of Justice wear a wrap
To block her view of inequalities,
Her sister suffers no such handicap:
She sees and disregards frivolities.
She sees the disadvantaged, wretched soul,
Demoralized and tortured by desire
To leave the torment of his hellish hole,
Who sinks, instead, more deeply in the mire.
A foolish youth stands humble and afraid
Before the bar of statutory blame.
His adolescent peccadilloes fade
When Mercy grants new honor to his name.
A guilty harlot in her gaudy dress
Deserves what Lady Justice might decree.
But Mercy sees a victim of duress,
Says, 'Go, and sin no more, ' then sets her free.
In perfect beauty, side by side they stand:
The Lady Justice with her covered eyes
And golden balance in her slender hand,
Propriety embodied, fair and wise;
And lovely Lady Mercy, seeing all
Through clear, unfettered eyes of lenity,
Compassionate and gentle, standing tall,
With kindly smiles of sweet serenity.
With mutual respect, they are prepared.
Each balancing the other's prudent choice,
The sisters speak, the verdict is declared,
Like harmonizing music, with one voice.
Yen Cress
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38.
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The Forgotten Children of Quan Am (Sestina)
A Sestina for the Boat People
Small desperate men, on ebbing waves of hope,
Embark a craft unworthy of the sea.
Where once the red-striped yellow flag had flown,
Oppression makes them seek a peaceful home.
What cargo fills the gray, decrepit boat?
A small supply of water, food, and life.
Like Kieu, the exiles face a fateful life.
They crouch among their bits of stored-up hope,
Abandoned to this salt-scabbed, moldy boat
That rocks with sick'ning heaves adrift the sea.
The battered cage leaks memories of home,
Where freedom, right, and dignity have flown.
With every soldier's knock, their hearts had flown
On dragon's wings, precluding normal life
In Vietnam, beloved ancestral home,
Destroying mother's joy and father's hope
And forcing longing looks east to the sea,
Where hungry fish now eye the bulging boat.
Awash with retching bodies, wretched boat-
Above which moons a hundred times had flown,
No stranger to the seething, churning sea-
Keeps death from overwhelming tender life
And gives the hopeless spirit feeble hope
That once more flesh will find itself a home.
Ahead awaits a free and safe new home
To dream about while chafing in the boat.
The nightmare left behind engenders hope,
Without which every spirit would have flown
And left mere piles of bones devoid of life
To slip beneath the waves of yawning sea.
A trough, a crest-so surges on the sea.
Aboard the creaking planks he rendered home,
A fevered, sun-burnt body yields up life.
Relief and sorrow mingle on the boat.
Another's legs can stretch: a bird has flown;
Raw courage feeds on grief and scrawny hope.
Across the glistening sea, the lurching boat
Heads toward a home where freedom's flag is flown-
Tenacious life a testament to hope.
Yen Cress
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39.
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The Pale Beauty
Born of the clouds,
I cast myself down
At your feet.
Observe my loveliness,
My beauty,
My unblemished face.
Respect my purity.
I am untouched,
Virginal,
Unused to coarse graspings.
Feel the soothing coolness
With which I surround you.
Hear the hushed whispers
Of my sensuous affection.
Test my strength.
I can bear great burdens;
I have no fear.
Sense my serenity
In the face of doom.
My existence is transitory.
When my time comes,
I shall softly weep,
And weeping, I shall pass.
And my tears
Will carry my spirit
To the thirsty valley,
Which knows me not.
Love me for this day.
Then let me go.
I am
The Snow.
Yen Cress
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40.
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The Pigeons' Chance
Imprisoned in a cage
just large enough to stretch their wings
but too small to fly within,
they became friends.
They were each other's only, constant,
mirror-image companions.
Two lovely birds,
White as snow, gentle as snowflakes,
cooing in the morning sun,
and in the dusk,
day after warm day,
night after summer night.
But it was not to be so forever.
When the cage door was opened,
leaving them free to go,
they stayed.
Too long confined,
they did not understand
what freedom means.
Long moments
they stayed within the limits
of their galvanized mesh walls,
gazing out,
confused.
Why is the door open?
Is it an illusion?
Is it a trick?
Is it safe to even think of venturing out?
Into the garden?
Past the bougainvillea?
To the telephone wires?
To the rocky hill?
Beyond?
Should we stay?
Should we stand by the door?
Will the door once more be slammed shut?
Tentatively,
as squabs emerge from their birth-shells,
the birds stepped out,
onto the lattice-covered patio,
into the wideness of the universe.
No more latch,
no more cross-hatched view,
no more waiting.
At first they ventured
only as far as the patio's edge,
pecking seeds
that had fallen to the ground.
They looked at me with uncertain eyes,
without terror, without affection.
They did not try to go beyond
the familiar environs of their imprisonment.
What a little freedom it was!
Yet to the lovely white birds,
that little freedom
was alpha and omega.
Yen Cress
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