Lamma Island, Hong Kong

I woke into thick silent fog,
the world outside almost
unrecognizable, stumbled
down the wet path to the pier
unsure if I was really awake.

Every leaf held a garland
of glass beads grazing my hair,
the neighbors wore blue rubber
sandals and reflecting ponchos
with fur-trimmed hoods

as they rushed to the ferry.
I took the long way down
stepping over mossy stones,
came upon two tiny cars,
miniature fire trucks driven

on an island without real roads,
like some child’s forgotten toys.
Mist permeated the steep hills
coating vines and houses in surreal
puffs, masking the surf and deep

ships’ bells at sea, conversations
drained away, even my footsteps
disappeared, late lamps above
the doorways making orange
nebulae, my skin clung to me.

 

Emily Strauss has an M.A. in English, but is self-taught in poetry, which she has written since college. Over 450 of her poems appear in a wide variety of online venues and in anthologies, in the U.S. and abroad. She is a Best of the Net and twice a Pushcart nominee. The natural world of the American West is generally her framework; she also considers the narratives of people and places around her. She is a retired teacher living in Oregon.