Lawson blue. At times
the glass door slides open;
more often it stays still,
like night stays still when it hits
the rock bottom at 1 am, without
a whimper. With care I edge
into this little shop
of convenience: chips, candies,
carton milk, things
I should have prepared
for this precarious winter.
Though lonely is not the word
I’d use to glorify myself, or anyone,
how else would I justify the man
idling now in the shop.
Or the woman slouching at a makeshift
stool with belongings bundled
at the feet. Or the cashier who leans
into his phone that bruises
his boyish face with colors. Or me,
holding words between my teeth
like a terrible lover. But now
we are here, the four
of us, in a midnight store, no use
talking about heaven or the forsaken, no
stories but ours, though untold,
like a sparkle at the strike
of the match, whose blue
lights the dark road, for a moment—
—
Aiden Heung (He/They) is a Chinese poet born in a Tibetan Autonomous Town, currently living in Shanghai. He is a Tongji University graduate. His poems written in English have appeared in The Australian Poetry Journal, The Missouri Review, Orison Anthology, Parentheses, Crazyhorse, Black Warrior Review among other places. He also translates poetry from Chinese to English, his translations were recently published in Columbia Journal and Cordite Poetry Review. He can be found on Twitter @aidenheung.
Photography by: Li Lin
