Two poems by Xiang Xu
A Trip to Hank Williams’ Home
Lonely pines, gravel roads, forsaken shacks
Stand defiant against the tyranny of Time.
Mosquitos, crickets, yellow hammers
Sing sweet summer lullabies—
a joyful prelude to this long-awaited trip,
One I should have made twelve years ago.
Dusty roads, desolate highways, hitchhiking,
Led me to the honky-tonk heaven
Where cold beers and weeping pedal steel
Tamed my wandering heart
Where Hank’s ghost was crooning
About unrequited love and unfulfilled dreams.
In my old Toyota Highlander
My reflection in the rearview
Sighs the treachery of Time.
That fiery passion of my youth
Remains but a flickering amber.
As I reach my destination,
I glimpse Mr. Hank Williams’ ghost,
With his ten-gallon hat and 1947 Martin D-18,
Greeting me with a cryptic grin.
His humble home once stood a sacred temple
In my dreams, now just a dreary shell,
Drenched in the swelter of Alabama summer.
In My Dreams
In my dreams
I am going back to my little cabin on the hill
Where the crickets chirp, birds warble,
Seasons alternate in their most predictable pattern
And turkeys’ irregular intrusion into my yard,
Feasting and dancing,
‘Till I darken the mirth of their party
In my dreams,
I hear the calm stillness,
before a relentless storm.
As a gentle reminder,
Like an old friend
Before his habitual visitation.
In my dreams,
I see my neighbor, Mr. James,
With his crooked smile,
Waving at me, like a statue
untouched by Time,
As I drive by his white trailer.
In my dreams,
I am once again,
On my routine solitary walk.
Down the gravel road,
Under a starry sky,
To communion with Nature,
Musing about Mortality, Redemption,
and every little thing in life.
These days,
As I wander through
The shadows of the hollow giants,
As I awaken from my idyllic fantasy,
The sound of honking, shrieking, rumbling
Thrust me back into reality.
As I peer through the window,
What I see is not green pastures,
live oaks, turkeys, or deer,
Nothing but bustling streets and gloomy haze.
Still, I hear that nature’s symphony–
The roar of a thunderstorm,
The howl of coyotes,
The wail of owls,
The whispering of leaves,
The murmuring of creeks,
And that low lapping sound of lake water
As it gently kisses the shore,
I hear them in my deep heart’s core.
Xiang Xu is a poet, philosopher and an ex-academic, who received his Ph.d in History from the University of Mississippi. He currently works as an English teacher at Guangzhou College of Commerce. Xu returned to China in May 2025 after his 13-year residence in rural Mississippi.
