Fragments
Your voice leaves a bookmark on the caxton
you're holding. Your shadow is expecting
the end of a season.
This is nearly guesswork. I imagine
your response to a speechless poster
on a wall, a woman walking a dog,
a loud squeak of a broken doorknob...
But I saw you that evening, one hand
(which one?)
in a pocket. You were talking to a
writer, or maybe two.
I pretended
not knowing you. You were pretending too.
We lost a chance to eye-kiss.
Now you are still reading, and the sun
shines on you. And I go on guessing
more and more about you.
Your voice leaves a bookmark on the caxton
you're holding. Your shadow is expecting
the end of a season.
This is nearly guesswork. I imagine
your response to a speechless poster
on a wall, a woman walking a dog,
a loud squeak of a broken doorknob...
But I saw you that evening, one hand
(which one?)
in a pocket. You were talking to a
writer, or maybe two.
I pretended
not knowing you. You were pretending too.
We lost a chance to eye-kiss.
Now you are still reading, and the sun
shines on you. And I go on guessing
more and more about you.
~this
poem and image appear in Lily
(June, 2007 Vol.4, issue 7). See here. The poem
also appears in Fire (June,
2007, p. 150).
~A Chinese version of the poem (rendered by Ellen Lai) appears in Lai's first collection of poetry & prose Except For Spider and Psychotic Woman (January 2006, pp. 27-28).
~A Chinese version of the poem (rendered by Ellen Lai) appears in Lai's first collection of poetry & prose Except For Spider and Psychotic Woman (January 2006, pp. 27-28).
