The Painting in the Attic, a Poem

Translated…

My Husband is the Embodiment of the Colors

In 1947, at the Prime of His Painting Career

He’d Left the Paintbrush

not my photo…

Put Himself on the Frontline to Settle the Unsettlement in the Society

And in Exchange, He’d Received the Harsh Screams from the Bullets

His Blood, Splashed at the Square of the Train Station of His Hometown

Finished His Final Work of Art

The Bullet that Shot Through Your Husband’s Chest

Started Having an Impact on Your Life Since

You’d Packed Up His Bloodied Clothes

Wrapped it Up Tightly, Sealed it Up Tight

“I’ll Show the Heavens” Became Your Primary Drive

To Hide All Your Husband’s Works of Art Inside that Attic of the Darkened Times

Year After Year, You’d Restored Them Carefully

Waited for the Day You Will, Show Them Outside Once More

You’d Kept it Pent Up for Forty Years

not my photo still…

Even that Bloodied Shirt Became Old and Torn

And it Could, No Longer Kept

The Shocks from the Pains of the Bullet Holes Masked Up

It’s Busted All of a Sudden

And, Fresh Blood Came Out of It, Exclaiming,

“Your Father Had Been Taken

Find Someone to Save Him

Did He Have Any Clothes on

Go, Bring Him a Shirt”

You’d Worried about Your Husband Endlessly

not my photo…

For Life, and, Because of This

Your Husband’s Art Was Able to Shed Light on the Art Histories of Taiwan

So, the loss had become a gain of sorts at the end, the husband had died, and, it was the wife who’s worked hard, to carry on her husband’s desires for his artwork, and, this woman must be very strong, to keep carrying on, after she’d lost the man she loved………