Gao Ge

It was winter,
My dad
stood outside the wall
of the People’s Commune,
waiting for my mom.

ding-ling-ling –
A Phoenix bicycle
rings loud and clear,
that isn’t her.

Ga-cha –
A scraping chain
against its cover,
another Phoenix,
not her.

Creaking and puffing,
creaking and puffing
white fog
on a Phoenix,
that is her.

At the table,
my dad speaks of this,
this moving love story.
My mum says –
No! Embarrassing!

Translated by MW, April 2020



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