I’m no longer sure where the river starts and the mud
ends. Bodies of water now house tin cans,
plastic nets, oil droplets. When I had fewer rings
and branches, a child covered with colorful abstract veins sat
on the dugout canoe. The leaves on her were patterned,
with different colors and textures. The river, cobalt blue,
sleepily carried the canoe down the stream. But parents now
guide their children away from the river. The reflection
of my brothers and clouds are now diluted with brown sludge.
New beings in the forest exhale black smoke and roar
on top of gravel paths. Primates who used my leaves for shelter
now build houses out of the bodies of my ancestors. All my brothers
were uprooted, carried away by these unknown beings. Across
the horizon, they married steel until barely recognizable.
Smoke rises in the distance, forming a foreign cloud. I am sent
to a strange land—my brothers, the primates, clear waters.
- Jacky Tang
Jacky Tang is a 16-year-old writer and artist based in Vancouver, Canada. His work has been recognized by Poetry in Voice, the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers, and he has been named one of 16 National FutureVerse poets in 2025. Outside of creative writing, he loves playing with ceramics, gardening in his backyard, or searching for new restaurants.
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