Roy Gu
What Was Heavy Is Still Heavy Now
What was heavy is still heavy now. What was gloomy is still gloomy. The reeds
are floating in the wind but not moving. The cherries do not have new branches on
which to perch. You still look like when you stepped out of the woods–bare feet, head
covered in dew. You want to go a long way but are tangled. Vines grow wildly; humans
can do nothing. What was heavy is still heavy now. The one that belongs to the past
didn’t find her wings.
Can’t Tell When Sunshine Will Be Here
Can’t tell when sunshine will be here. The classroom in the afternoon is always
golden. It’s me who hides behind the curtains; it’s you who sings. You said it was the
first time you saw leaves all over the ground. There is no fall or winter in your
hometown. Rice crackers and sugar corners, they always make you cry, like the moment
when harmony rang, or the moment you sat down on a bench by the fence. Can’t tell
when sunshine will be here. The fish tail never appears again.
Roy Gu is Professor of English at Shanghai International Studies University, China. He has published poems and short stories in both English and Chinese. His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Hayden’s Ferry Review, New World Writing, J Journal, Hobart, and elsewhere. He has translated several books, including Love by Toni Morrison. He is also a singer-songwriter and has released folk music albums.
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