City Voices: Hong Kong Writing in English 1945 to the Present

POETEY

POETEY My Probe 2000 Anita Cheung My probe (not unlike that of a clairvoyant's) dissolves with that faint curl of the lips Distant reminder of that notoriously ambiguous smile You perfected the art of equivocation *฀* ฀* ฀*฀ Fried Chestnut s 2000 Michelle Fok Ka Ling Next to the ditch and mbbish bin, where flies and cockroaches linger, I meet a man who waits for customers from midnight film shows. With a msted metal spade in his hands, he grins and says, "Twenty-four dollar s for a pound." He fries the chestnuts in the wok. 386 Ne w Voices Wounds on his finger-tips expose the soft flesh under his wrinkled skin. You had hands coarser than his, but I liked the way you patted my face. Cracks on the reddish-brown shell s show the golden kernel. You bought me fried chestnut s and the yellow mist in your eyes thickened. Your last days in the white prison, no snack but glucose. I won't buy fried chestnuts again, as soaked with tears, they are bitter. *฀* ฀* ฀*฀ The Kite 2000 Wong Ho Yin The Airport Express Travels back along the time path The nearer it gets to its destination , the closer comes the past. Once the two of us played with kites You really wanted to be one. High above the ground you fly The line would always let you come Home safe and sound. Now that you're Leaving Hong Kong for real, Keep this kite with you, I will keep the reel. Yau Ma Tei, Early 80s/She asked "Who is Franz Kafka?" Yao Ma Tei9 Early 80s 2001 Winnie Cheung Wing Yee The fireball hit a wooden cell which stood in Reclamation Street. A child moulded "M"s on her copybook. An infant slept in a thorny cradle. He struggled, cried in a gloomy cell. Red spots kept growing on their necks. Their Mum lit huo shui* and boiled the water. The wooden cell became their heater: their cheeks, their wounds, their spots were reddened. They gazed at the door. They gazed for the knock. They longed for a man in uniform to announce "Move house!" But such a man never appeared; they were sweating, in pain, in Yau Ma Tei. *฀* ฀* ฀*฀ She asked "Who is Franz Kafka? " 2001 Raslo Layton She asked "Who is Franz Kafka?" I told her he's a Greek-Argentinian who mns a small deli and coffee plac e down in Lan Kwai Fong I thought she'd be much happier with that than with the tmth huo shui - kerosene . 388 Ne w Voices Life on a Treadmill 2001 Chloe C. Li I live my life as if I'm running on a treadmill Destination not revealed But I just can't stand still In order to accomplish more I let my whole body go sore Going, going nowhere My sweat congeals into Despair *฀* ฀* ฀*฀ Caterpillar 2001 Li Wai lu On the solid cement ground, a striped caterpillar In its fastest pace, hastily but steadily Squirming in sunlight, stopped me I was on my way home In a hurry, with things undone Troubles unsolved and future unknow n With its soft body, long and thin It crossed a hole and passed a pit Though I thought it was hard for it A long way for it, from here to there To surmount obstacles, to achieve the aim The Tear Collector 38 9 It was doing something I could never claim Everything is hard for me Holes and pits, ups and downs Problems seemed existing all around It was greater than I, though small in size With respect for my tiny insect hero I stopped my steps and guarded its path *฀* ฀* ฀*฀ The Tear Collector 2001 Sharon Sung Sau Fun The tear collector, every tear I shed he squats and picks. I tell him mine are too bitter to take. He smiles, and says he collects. "What do you want them for?" I ask. "To chain them together, and put them around your neck one day." 390 Ne w Voices Coming Through 2002 Canti Lui I see faces outside the room, watching as they become clear at one moment, vague at another. I hear voices of different peopl e but I do not understand them. Below my feet I see a swamp with many scalpels, stained. Three o'clock in the moming people...