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The Gift by Li-Young Lee

By T.

5 September 2005

4.23k

The Gift
Li-Young Lee

To pull the metal splinter from my palm
my father recited a story in a low voice.
I watched his lovely face and not the blade.
Before the story ended, he’d removed
the iron sliver I thought I’d die from.

I can’t remember the tale,
but hear his voice still, a well
of dark water, a prayer.
And I recall his hands,
two measures of tenderness
he laid against my face,
the flames of discipline
he raised above my head.

Had you entered that afternoon
you would have thought you saw a man
planting something in a boy’s palm,
a silver tear, a tiny flame.
Had you followed that boy
you would have arrived here,
where I bend over my wife’s right hand.

Look how I shave her thumbnail down
so carefully she feels no pain.
Watch as I lift the splinter out.
I was seven when my father
took my hand like this,
and I did not hold that shard
between my fingers and think,
Metal that will bury me,
christen it Little Assassin,
Ore Going Deep for My Heart.
And I did not lift up my wound and cry,
Death visited here!
I did what a child does
when he’s given something to keep.
I kissed my father.

MARGINALIA

Another one, perhaps? I love Li-Young Lee’s voice, and on a rainy day his poems are perfect company.

ABOUT LI-YOUNG LEE

Li-Young Lee (he/him) is a poet and the author of The Invention of the Darling (W. W. Norton, 2024); The Undressing (W. W. Norton, 2018); Behind My Eyes (W. W. Norton, 2009); From Blossoms: Selected Poems (Bloodaxe, 2007); Book of My Nights (BOA Editions, 2001), winner of a William Carlos Williams award; The City in Which I Love You (BOA Editions, 1990), winner of a Laughlin Award; and Rose (BOA Editions, 1986), winner of a Delmore Schwartz Memorial Poetry Award from New… (more)