MAYDAY

MOONLIGHT 月光 by Xiao Qiao (translated by Cindy M. Carter)

Contributed By: , ,

The moonlight at my door is white.
It flashes by like weaponry.

A shattered scenery resolves
into sweet and sharpened
drops of candy.

Bit by bit, they prick
the slightly-slanted corners
of your eyes.

35 – Guangzho (1995) photograph by Han Lei

我门前的月光很白
像某种兵器一闪而过
破碎的景象慢慢坚实
变成甜蜜的有点尖锐的球形糖果
一颗一颗
刺穿你微微倾斜的眼角

Return to table of contents for Issue 2 Winter 2010

Further Reading

Feminist Flashback: The Woman’s Film
by Jennifer Gauthier

I can’t remember precisely the first time I saw The Woman’s Film, a collaborative short documentary made by San Francisco Newsreel in 1971, but I do remember being struck by its boldly feminist mode of address and content. It has stuck with me for years and now I use it in class anytime I can. […]

The Only Thing Missing Was the Howling of Wolves
by Rachel Swearingen

The following is excerpted from Rachel Swearingen’s debut story collection, How to Walk on Water. Her stories and essays fiction have appeared in VICE, Agni, American Short Fiction, and elsewhere. A recipient of the 2018 New American Fiction Prize, Swearingen has also won the 2015 Missouri Review Jeffrey E. Smith Editors’ Prize in Fiction and […]

Hanif Abdurraqib interviewed by Ruth Awad: Joy Is Not Promised to You

Hanif Abdurraqib is a poet, essayist, and cultural critic from Columbus, Ohio. His poetry has been published in Muzzle, Vinyl, PEN American, and various other journals. His essays and music criticism have been published in The FADER, Pitchfork, The New Yorker, and The New York Times. His first full-length poetry collection The Crown Ain’t Worth […]

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