Poetry by Liuyu Chen
a cloud holding painful rain
waiting for the lightning
half out of
When the Last Two Homeless Men Bade Farewell for the Winter
When the crippled trains underground are exhausted from
chasing each other. Half block of trash bags cuddle on the margin
and ponder. Hungry couples snuff moaning cigarettes, ready
to devour each other. A roaming soul leans on a crutch,
knocks and knocks door after door,
gets slammed out.
When lamps shut their eyelids in the dazing window.
When neon lights reach out their bare fingers, salving cool curbs
where a group of college students shove and shout,
beer bottles shattering into broken
To My Hair
I grew taller, closer to the sky; you grew
longer and heavier. Once in a while I cut
your desire to reach the ground. One day,
I ran to the hairdresser, steaming you for hours
until you came out sweating into red fire.
The other day, I ran away from my homeland
passing my mountains, rivers and sky.
When I landed on the other side of the earth,
a man speaking another language asked me:
What’s your hair color? I looked at you,
red over your body but your root shouts:
Liuyu Chen was born on January 23rd, 1990 in Yongkang, Zhejiang Province, China. She got her B.A. degree in Chinese Language and Literature from Beijing Language and Culture University. She is now pursuing a MFA degree in poetry at New York University.
Featured Image photograph by E.B. Bartels, www.ebbartels.com.