A hometown is a nose bleed (or construction-site cement coursing through your parents’ veins) a warm current that even time cannot resolve Picking up a piece of the past is like picking up a fragment of bone, unearthing night’s dark flesh A hometown isn’t fertile soil (but it is a ferry) a poor and humble […]
Xiao Qiao
MOONLIGHT 月光 by Xiao Qiao (translated by Cindy M. Carter)
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. 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
CACTUS (THE IMMORTAL PALM) 仙人掌 by Xiao Qiao (translated by Cindy M. Carter)
The Chinese word for cactus, 仙人掌, translates as “Palm of the Immortals.” The cactus grows not from immortal arms, but vainly from the sands, thirsting for a surgery: Oh cut me, cut me open, let me hear the water gush from me… Comes a western trader, peddling wigs as sleek as silver, whose merchant-eyes pierce […]
