Homebound by Aiden Heung

You know it’s there, held
in where the wind becomes sand.


Landslides and snow will slow
your car, before it climbs


onto the serpentine road
like an ant on split bark;


you let the power lines guide you
southward, chasing the sun


that chips off the immense
shadow of mountains, till it becomes


an impression, a thin memory.
You’d lose your way, if not


for a signpost that swings, whose paint
haunts like a mockery of deja-vu,


or something you hoped would not
change. A riot of dust


greets you like motherless
children tugging at your shirt.


You stand in the burning
sun. The familiar silence reigns


as it did twenty years ago,
like a pregnant question.


Nobody knows what became
of these people you’d left behind.

Aiden Heung (He/They) is a Chinese poet born in a Tibetan Autonomous Town, currently living in Shanghai. He is a Tongji University graduate. His poems written in English have appeared in The Australian Poetry JournalThe Missouri ReviewOrison Anthology, ParenthesesCrazyhorseBlack Warrior Review among other places.He also translates poetry from Chinese to English, his translations were recently published in Columbia Journal and Cordite Poetry Review. He can be found on Twitter @aidenheung.