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  • A Dim Fire Flickers in the Fire Pit
  • Jidi Majia

I long for birth, I long for death.When the moon rises over the towering white poplars in Jilebutebright moonlight has already illuminated the blue skyover the mountains, above the darknessThat’s the land before the rebirth of memory.My days and nights are like the earliest myths and legends.In the dawn light, Biashilaze blessed the sunlike a holy one using his warmthto reawaken my wildness and my spirit; he also reawakenedmy clansmen who’d quietly departed in the dreams beneath my  wool cape.I’m filled with longing, and until I die I’ll long for those nights,the dim fire flickering in the fire pit, my relatives drowsy,the storyteller still telling stories without end . . . I don’t know who  could forget them.My longings are metaphors for light and darkness.Where the river disappears, time’s brilliant rayshave always shone on the past.When the night cavalry crosses the borders of dreams,the saddles sparkling with silver radiancewill eventually vanish in the depths of words.I see in this moment, those ancestors and sagesI must never forget. They have become synonymsfor the freedom and dignity of this land.I revere them because they lived in an age of heroes.The oral epic praises their illustrious names.I’ve sung of happiness and blessings because I’ve seenchildren who’ve traveled to distant towns return to their mothers.Yes, you’ve seen me cry because my flock of sheephas lost its lush grasslands. I don’t know where they’ll go tomorrow.My longing is because my grief is not just grief itself.It’s because as a personI often long for all the wonder that’s been lost. [End Page 106]

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