Rice Field
Afternoon, the sun sits
on her shoulder; and the smell
of something primeval comes
like a sudden memory of the sea.
I see her
sitting in her wicker chair
and talking to the air.
For those who understand her,
she means laundry and soap.
For me, every syllable
is a continent, a virgin geography.
I come closer ready to by-pass
her as I usually do,
she looks up to me,
her face,
the rice field at the foot
of a snow-capped mountain.
Aiden Heung
Aiden Heung is a Chinese poet born and raised on the edge of the Tibetan Plateau. He writes about his personal past in a Tibetan Autonomous Town and the city of Shanghai where he currently lives. Other themes include ancestry, nature-human relations, queer culture, the dehumanizing force of the city, politics, and his imaginary wonderland. His words appeared recently in Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Poet Lore, Hobart, Parentheses, Barren Magazine, Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine, Potomac Review, among other places. He is a reader of world literature. He can be found on twitter @AidenHeung. Visit his website for more information: www.aidenheung.com
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