: Black Miscellany :
an excerpt by Yang Zi
translated by Fiona Sze-Lorrain
But someone is indeed suffering from cancer,
someone is indeed falling off his capsized boat.
Will his body padded in cotton
be scalded by the wintry sea?
Someone is indeed going mad,
walking up to those
who do not believe he is mad,
I – am – mad!
Tiny black miscellany
floats in the air.
We sit by the window,
drinking in silence whatever is in our cups.
Your coffee, her milk tea, my whisky.
On Ersha Island,
in the night of dazzling lights,
black miscellany falls into the throat,
We cough softly.