If Knot

Yi Wu

Spring has wiped clear last bits of frost to get an improved eyesight

Knowing end of a long queue before her is coming

After fruits have over-riped and frozen from daylight

Like how photos taken of untimely moments remain after lens is clean

Her first show gives snowy images, snowy images preserved in iceboxes

Where thermostat’s pointer swerves below thirty-two

Prolonged gaze, an involuntary one, gives a shadow, indelible

It is what it was

And I, followed by a contour, two-dimensional

And turning into darkness, fearful

Of standing up yet too weak to fall asleep soundly,

Similarly cannot run,

Like how rock stars fall from grace to the stage floor when shoelaces

Entangle with rings on groupies’ notebooks awaiting autographs, tripping loudly

In this noise of broken drums and sound systems, reminiscent

Of what children hear of an industrial city.

The shadow has quietly replaced me