What They Saw
Li-Hong Lei village, China, 2001

Three men out my window drag
the earth through hoes, then bend
to slit¹ new seed rows.

Behind them, an orchard²（果园） droops³（下垂，消沉）
with almonds（杏仁） —trees pregnant, the earth
conceiving（怀孕，构思） . The men wear wide

bamboo hats and white shirts circled
with sweat. They all rise together
to watch our rusty⁴（生锈的，腐蚀的） chicken truck cab pass,

the bed pressed low with luggage.
Do they have a word for tourists?
Would they call us ghosts, too?

They steady their tools and draw up
a free hand to shade their eyes.
We watch each other, these three men and I,

until the kicked-up dust and the distance
are too much for our gazes to bear.
MaMa, they know us. This is what they saw:

two ghosts moving through their country,
through their own country.