Folded You are an envelope unopened, chin to chest, face to thigh Li Hua, the folded man, twenty-eight years in search of sky. There is no easy unfurling, no gentle tease of bony curves, no tender touch, no fond and soft caress of tendons, sinews, nerves. Only the scraich of saw on bone, on thigh, on neck, on lumbar spine and finally on hips to help you stand, the folded man, unfolded by design. Your mother, Tang Dongchen, will see your face and know it whole, and sifting through the stones of memory say, my son, I met your soul. Unbound by love the burden of your folding finds release in eyes that after all this time will kiss the sky to find you peace. Lynda Tavakoli
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