poems by Yuxing Xia

Dusk Front

 

I saw lines of shadow cross my backyard and seep through the dry soil. With erasure inbound, no more will we lament the loss of a friend. The day ends with the drought of wordy creases, so much that I cannot feel myself think about what had happened.

Reluctance

 

Your eyes were drooping, perhaps from the elevated wind. I tried to catch your attention by waving a paper bag. I saw no major reaction, but you probably glanced through your peripheral vision, even if for half a second. There was no major cross-reaction when you reached for my hand. I didn’t even feel it.

 

 

 

Shaped Out of the Trial

 

I changed my shape to fit

your demands of innocence:

you required someone that could tweak

facial expressions (snapshot check my work).

For the remainder of my trial,

there was no scandal when you approved

my shabby work such that the government

dished out “Aha!” in response to that disinformation.

Like a snaking path mastered by trial and error,

We were ushered out without further evidence.

 

 

 

Ghost

 

The ghost town fed for a day

during the battle for dollars.

Not so bad for being away from Czarists,

and the denied furniture, disks, or fence

felt exhausted, ashamed.

Should they support pricey shares

of snow angstroms and shotgun shabby?

Muddle the shadow into jasmine bonds.

 

 

 

3:24 AM on Sunday

 

Hint of light flashed

through window panes

 

and barely a tremble from the seats.

As the final call for remaining passengers

 

came from across the aisle,

I mistakenly heard the wince

 

of an unconscious cat

waiting for a lap of warm milk.

 

 

 

Cinderbox

 

ashes spread out on the ground

the culprit

not around this part of town

people will stop and glance

illegal

move on step away from the crime scene

wander            wander

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