By Jiaqi (Cindy) Fan
Once I walked along a country path, I
saw a man dressed in a nightgown. He was
murmuring a childish folk song. A sigh
grasped his throat and brushed it into pieces.
And here He comes. Roses sting with grief, and
lilies paint the sky as ashy. Cluster
of melancholy sheep roams on waste land,
scared of that wise man whose glowing winter
bonfire through his hollow chest, that filled by
blue silk ribbons, nightingale’s chill-sweet kiss.
It is rainy. And a boat’s adrift high.
Dying women pray for opiate grace,
and here He comes. Servant of the tomb sand,
standing as an isolated island.
(Worms dress up the dead like shells of white oyster;
here He comes, and makes her his fairest daughter.)
Jiaqi Fan is a fourth-year student at the University of Toronto. She’s majoring in Psychology and English, and doing an Education and Society minor. She’s writing both Chinese and English poetry. For Chinese poetry, she prefers the Chinese ancient metrical poems 律诗绝句, and has some works published in one of the Chinese poetry online magazine 《诗刊》.
Photo Credit: Johannes Plenio on Unsplash