Illustration by Anderson Lee
When I die at another antlike moment like this
No human crowds would gather to mourn my loss
Nor would anybody really notice my departure
Much less shed tears, even if because of the wind
Yet I am sure trees will shake off their leaves; horses
Will stampede, raindrops will taste somewhat salty
Hills & mountains will all murmur in a muted voice
Above all, Zhuhai will weep under sagging clouds
For it well knows there will be no more human soul
On this planet trying to connect with the city as far
As from beyond the Pacific, so closely & constantly
With its myriad spirited fingers caressing every
Synapse of the neighborhood, the very building
Where you dwell, while poetry cannot help feeling
Empty as if its heart were hollowed by my absence
Changming Yuan started to learn the English alphabet in Shanghai at age 19, published monographs on translation, and worked as a college lecturer and administrator before leaving China. An independent tutor and translator with a Canadian PhD in English, Yuan currently edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Yuan in Vancouver while writing all kinds of poetry, especially sociopolitical, languacultural, nature, reflective, dark and experimental. Credits include eight chapbooks, ten Pushcart nominations, the 2018 Naji Naaman’s Literary Prize, the 2019 Jodi Strutz Award in Poetry, and publications in Best of the Best Canadian Poetry: Tenth Anniversary Edition and BestNewPoemsOnline, among more than 1,700 other journals/anthologies across 46 countries.