One autumn noon, the Dragon King and his wife the descendant of the Holy Fay gathered their one hundred children to a mountain roof. There, with the wind carrying their scent into the sweetgreen moss, they began

Children, on this fertile land we live, not a day passes by that I don’t think of the waves. I long to be where the whitecaps run, where the waves indent rocks, and where the rocks, indented, form the darkest citadel known. I want the seven seas in my chest, I crave the lucid water rush through the gap of my toes. I am the son of the deep-sea, and for that, Children, I must go.

Children, the water called for your father, and the highland whispered my name. My vigor lays here where the air is flat, my hair flourishes among the crystal clouds. I yearned and will forever yearn his roaring touch, but Children the mountain sings me sandalwood lullaby, the grayed lichen takes me into slumber I cannot forgo. I am the daughter of the woodlings, and for that, Children, I need to stay.

Children, you flow like water and still like roots, one hundred eggs hatched from our womb. Fifty of you, lock hands and follow me to the coast where we will ride the water against the wind. The rest, lock eyes and stay with your mother in the highland where her rhythm will guide you to awake the hidden creatures and plants.

Children, before we leave, huff in the numbing air and place your trembling pulses together. Let your tears carve into your soul the promise of honor and protection. Stand close and let your fingers run madly for warmth. Fill your lungs with the sound of home for when half of us disappear what remains are memories. Once all that is done, take one last searing look, my Children, and let the departure begin.

That autumn noon, the Dragon King left with half of the Children and the other fifty stayed with his wife the descendant of the Holy Fay. His figure blurred behind the misty clouds, the wind carried his scent from the sweetgreen moss into her hair.

This poem was a finalist in the National AWP contest in 2021.