Poetry / September 2016 (Issue 33)


Flying Tree

by Lo Mei Wa and translated from the Chinese by Henry Wei Leung

飛樹
 
每層樓有三十五個鳥籠每座大樓有四十層樓每處有五百座大樓城裡有好多處總共
有好多好多鳥籠。夜了籠裡便逐一點燈。一盞、兩盞、三盞。隔岸望去一城的鳥籠金光
璀璨。窗外時有飛樹經過看籠裡的孩子。鳥籠太小我早便長出太多肉,動不了。終於
有天我打開籠伸出雙手飛樹便接走了我。今夜我踏著飛樹回到故籠發現附近的小
鳥都變了一頭頭大笨象一出鳥籠便趕忙塞進升降機裡。
 
 
FLYING TREE
 
Every story has thirty-five birdcages, every tenement has forty stories, every place has five hun-
dred tenements, and the city has many places, so altogether it has many, many birdcages. In the
evenings, the cages are lit: one bowl of light, another bowl, a third bowl. The golden caged lights
of the city are resplendent when seen from ashore. From time to time, flying trees stop by the
windows to see the children within. The cages are very small; when I was little I became so big
that I could no longer move inside. Then one day I opened the cage, opened my hands, and was
picked up by a flying tree. Tonight, I rode back to my old cage on a flying tree, to discover that
all the small birds here have grown into bumble-elephants. They jostle out of their cages, then
cram into elevators.
 
 
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