cw – blood, violence
HILARY TAM
7th floor balcony, Hong Kong SAR
Was where we stood last January, scraping grit from our nails until they fell like
black snowflakes, burning the city to the ground with our
Exhales. Twilight crisscrossing with smog. The fiery
Yellow amalgamating with umbrellas underneath. Canopies sprawled open–wings, without
flight. Tomorrow the city will be nothing but
Ash, cremated by daybreak, pellets
so much like lingering stars in the tar of this
Cityscape. Ma said count your blessings so I enumerated the people’s bruises
To the metronome of screams. They tell us a body is a temple, yet soot blackened our veins
Like ink unfurling in water.
You clenched the horizon with dirt-stained fingertips,
Humming the 90’s cantopop tune you heard on your morning
Taxi. Static between syllables. A broken war cry.
Two streets away tear gas traced elegies for sons and daughters
In the pavement. Retreating street vendors dropping siu mai and bamboo skewers,
Soy sauce steaming on
Gutter covers.
We were God on the 7th floor balcony, watching lovers and
Lawbreakers state their last wishes until batons and bullets
Bashed freedom from their bones. Black shirts peppered with
Sawdust.
How much crimson makes a city
A graveyard for democracy? Masks and helmets filling cracks
In asphalt. I clung to the railing like a lifeboat, drowning fast, shattered by
Oceans– but, Ma, even in debris the neon shadow of Victoria Harbour
Imprints on my veins, faded billboards and street lights illuminating
These frail bodies.
Our souls become craters for hope. Carcasses,
Reborn. We laid fragmented dreams on ledges like wet laundry and cleansed
The skyline’s wounds with
Vapour. This is our sacrifice, our pledge–
Home sweet
Home.
Hilary Tam is a writer from Hong Kong. Her work is published or forthcoming in Evoke Literary Magazine, Analogies & Allegories Literary Magazine, Fahmidan journal and more. She can be found playing (and losing at) sternhalma, poring over literary magazines or taking long walks. She is on twitter @hiilarytam.