Iris Fan Xing’s ‘Smog’
from South of Words
when street lights are smudged
when high-rises lose their grids
when the city submits to abstraction
on a red alarm night
on an east-bound train
silence behind masks
warning ring in the ears
smog herds us home
it was in early summer when I last saw you
around Travessa da Paixão
you told me you’d eventually
move to the mainland and I replied
I’d go overseas
don’t know why but parting
always reminds me of drifting clouds
maybe because I know that Xu Zhimo poem
embarrassingly well and you’ll agree with me
a seaside town like Macao presents
the best kind of summer cloud
generous in volume and almost tangible
the same kind in Perth in winter
with colours like the orange and pink
in Bonnard’s le bol de lait
now as we emerge from another hutong
branched out from the Drum Tower
counting yellow and red halos
cast by street lamps on our way to DDC
I’ve forgotten the air is toxic
and wish instead
with dust’s magic trick
a seedling will appear on my palm
and then I can watch it sprout
leaf by leaf and on a rainy day
strive to catch every droplet
from returning clouds
