1. In the frame, your student jumped off a tall building and broke his neck.
Pomegranates oozing out of him.
2. Carefully etched, you tried to scream but there was an apple in your throat.
Crimson and rounded. You couldn't catch your breath.
3. On canvas, your eyes were covered by boats. Sea made of flowers blocked
your sight. You covered children's eyes.
4. Untitled, a black dog jumped over the windowsill and bit you in the neck.
Gnawing darkness. Seething accident.
5. At the corner of the gallery, your head fell off like the cutest thing. Out of the
frame. Nobody paid attention to it.
6. Walking back, there is another untitled pain. By pain you mean pictures.
Haunted pictures bleeding off the wall.
7. You took pictures with pictures. An illusion within an illusion. Pills taped to
the wall. You don't need to taper off them.
8. Look, there is another exhibition upstairs/ in the wall/ oops you went the
wrong way/mind your head, little girl. You gasped. There were exhibitions in
the air.
9. The exhibition was closed yesterday. Now you can look at the walls. Look at
anything.
10. This is not an exhibition. There wasn't an exhibition. All you've seen is dead
now.
___________
Kexin Huang won a poetry prize awarded by The Chinese Writers Association, prizes awarded by The Poetry Society and is shortlisted for The Bridport Prize. Her poems appeared or will appear in Modern Poetry in Translation, Magma, and Poetry Wales. Her pamphlet is Unlock (Veer Books, 2023).
This poem was chosen by Anthropocene Guest Editor HLR.
Comments