The River Han in Taichung
written by: Ian Fletcher
I sometimes feel sorry for you
as you flow forever southward,
dwindling to a pitiful trickle
in the parched winter months—
so faint a stream one could
hardly call you a river at all.
I worry that you might dry up,
leaving but a bed of stones,
a valley of bleached bones.
Yet when the summer rains come,
you can swell to a torrent’s force,
instilling fear and awe in those
that dare approach your shores.
Such are your seasonal rhythms
which you have etched into my soul;
and thus you shall carry on, old friend,
long, long after I have met my end.
* “Han” (旱) means “dry” in Chinese.
Born and raised in Cardiff, Wales, Ian has an MA in English from Oxford University. He lives in Taiwan with his wife, two daughters and cat. He teaches English in a high school. He has had poems and short stories published in Duane’s PoeTree, Tuck Magazine, Best Poetry, The Ekphrastic Review, 1947 A Literary Journal, Spillwords Press, Dead Snakes, Your One Phone Call, Schlock! Webzine, Short-story.me, Literary Yard, Indian Periodical, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, Poems and Poetry, Friday Flash Fiction, The Drabble, and in various anthologies.
Latest posts by Ian Fletcher (see all)
- The River Han in Taichung - September 2, 2025
- The Verdigris-Coated Soul - May 17, 2025
- At a Temple in Taiwan - April 14, 2025
