From the metro ride to its end,
we have bickered, stopping
as we get off the escalator only to have it loop
back to this plated silence.
This argument is circular,
just let go.
I hear what you said at the previous station
of memory though where we are now is the underpass.
I look in the distance; discern two out of four Chinese characters:
“出口” green background, white fonts,
Universal man figure running to safety in
the Exit sign heralding the end to this tunnel.
The first character like a hand; yours now,
pale and deeply veined, fingers fanned free of mine.
The second character was me: closed and hollow,
space inside constricted, shapeless.
If you are looking for a sign, this is it, I imagine.
But as we walk under it, you tessellate your fingers
into mine and I remember that was merely another checkpoint
to pass to make our way towards another entrance.
1.
We were blessed with the fruit
after our vows but at a loss
of what to do with it.
We stripped its flesh with teeth and nails
but kept its masticated pulp and seeds
between our hands, believing
we were responsible for what we make redundant.
2.
Now tired of waiting for the timely truth of forgetting,
we want to let go instead of searching for a design
of reason to hold on. We should be able to dispose
at our quickest convenience, articles that no longer serve us
and not be thought impatient lest we become these articles.
In isolation, we watched
these remnants oxidize to half-life.
3.
Once there is no more noxious activity,
marriage destroys itself and lives inert.
Inside divorce is a cloud of compost:
the irony of waste.
The night we disposed the rest
of the fruit was undesignated.
We noticed there was no more
4.
fracture of light.
You could say it was a sign. My mother calls
divorce convenient and selfish. I look
at the galaxy of remains on the grass patch
sprinkled in the shape of our statute.
The next morning, I woke up,
fingers clenched, palm alone:
a spectral longing of my right hand dreaming.
Author’s note:
安全出口 / If You Are Looking For a Sign, This Is It is based on the Chinese characters 安全出口 for “safety exit”. The number of lines in this poem is equal to the number of strokes in the Chinese characters. The four stanzas match the number of words in the Chinese title.
乱丢垃圾 / The Chaos of a Separation is based on the Chinese words 乱丢垃圾, which mean “littering”. Individually, 乱 refers to “chaos”, 丢 refers to the act of throwing, and 垃圾 refers to “trash”. 乱丢垃圾 (littering) literally means “a chaotic disposal of unwanted materials”. The number of lines in this poem is equal to the number of strokes in the Chinese characters. The four stanzas match the number of words in the Chinese title.