ZixingcheArianne Zwartjes
a little red Chinese dictionary
collects dust on the shelf. in it,
the word zixingche, for bicycle,
for razoring rides through a city aswarm
with vehicles, deadly bees zipping
and swerving. and the word
for lake, hu, each character full
of small arching bridges and lily
pads, lotus, the ou we cooked
so often in sweet sauce
in our apartment above the
honking street. farther back
there is xiaoxiang, for the alley
lined with vendors, red and blue
and yellow tubs full of eels, frogs,
or fish. the oil carts frying boazi,
women in high heels sitting
on the pavement with their wares,
beside the stinky canal bejeweled
in floating globs of black algae.
li jianhong, the li of ‘neighborhood,’ of
libian, ‘within, inside of’—
that li is not inside this small red
dictionary. that li is found in
one place only, a small city,
small door, small bed,
small face breathing out bits of air
which slowly, molecule by
molecule, make their way here.
|
|
