Weight

Wanchen Cao

When the baby was born
she was so light
she brought a pure
hope
for this world

Later, someone placed
a stone on her back
then one person after another
the weight on her back
grew into a small mountain
they said

Growing up means learning to be heavy
learning to carry the weight
so she carried the small mountain
and kept walking
but her back grew heavier and heavier

She grew used to silent endurance
used to being strong
the bitter stones
cut her all over
still she walked on
protecting that dwindling hope

Until one day
she leaned against a great tree
for the first time
she wanted to put down the mountain on her back

But the tree said
you are too heavy
no one will love someone so heavy
please leave

She looked at the stones on her back
not one
of them
had she put there herself

Emptiness

Wanchen Cao

You reach out both hands
what are you hoping for
what are you trying to grasp
emptiness is the heaviest thing
sinking  falling
pressing out the last tear

Suppose you were on an uninhabited planet
with nothing, not a thread of clothing
nothing but boundless
emptiness
soundless
emptiness
unshakable
emptiness
and so you reach out both hands
what are you hoping for
what are you trying to grasp

But not even the wind
will brush past
until someone
walks out of the dark
the only one left behind
on this uninhabited planet

You reach out both hands
what are you hoping for
what are you trying to grasp
the feeling of being touched
warm and soft

You open your chest
to show him the wasteland inside
an emptiness where not a blade of grass grows
there was once a sea there
once a sky full of stars
and a very careful heart

But later
they were taken away one by one
no one returned them
only scabbed-over emptiness remained

He bends down
as though inspecting
a vessel already broken
taps it with his knuckles
only a dull, hollow sound
as though the whole planet
were sinking inside it

You reach out both hands
what are you hoping for
what are you trying to grasp
even a name
you could remember
even a simple greeting

But he draws back his hand
takes a step away
glances at you with distaste
and leaves you with these words—

A hollow person
does not deserve to be loved

Wanchen Cao is a Chinese poet and creative writing researcher pursuing a PhD in Creative Writing (Poetry) at the University of Dundee, following an MA in Creative Writing at the University of Southampton. She is the author of Seven O’Clock, and her poetry has appeared in Jiangnan, Poetry Monthly, Young Poet, and Yangtze Poetry.