Rongfei Mu
Blue Horses
we paint blue horses on the hospital floor.
they roar to life, neighing and tossing back
majestic manes of cobalt and dark thunder.
the nurses come armed with buckets and soap.
i feed you eskatamines, then water.
you ask about altay, the kazakh women
who gossiped my ear off, and the kids
with sooty faces and entire constellations in their eyes.
i burned through all the incense and alcohol,
the first night i slept out in the hall,
the first time you attempted.
mama, put your arms up and just dance,
like i did the night of the bonfire during nowruz. [3]
goddamnit, it used to be easy to be happy.
i never thought you’d do it until you tried.
i never thought you’d do it until you tried.
what’s left is the grey of the beijing weather,
the catheter needle sticking out your arm.
i paint pink watermelon, white sunshine,
a litter of golden retrievers.
i am terrified of silence, and what it might mean.
that time near haba river, i galloped till dawn,
and yet i thought, faster, faster,
until nothing could catch me, not even my problems.
there has to be a point beyond the speed of light
where a person’s bones become weightless.
there has to be a certain point
where i can outrun even myself.
we paint blue horses on the hospital floor.
i open the windows so the light can sneak in.
--
[3] A traditional festival of the Kazakh people living in Altay, China, which celebrates the new year and the arrival of spring
they roar to life, neighing and tossing back
majestic manes of cobalt and dark thunder.
the nurses come armed with buckets and soap.
i feed you eskatamines, then water.
you ask about altay, the kazakh women
who gossiped my ear off, and the kids
with sooty faces and entire constellations in their eyes.
i burned through all the incense and alcohol,
the first night i slept out in the hall,
the first time you attempted.
mama, put your arms up and just dance,
like i did the night of the bonfire during nowruz. [3]
goddamnit, it used to be easy to be happy.
i never thought you’d do it until you tried.
i never thought you’d do it until you tried.
what’s left is the grey of the beijing weather,
the catheter needle sticking out your arm.
i paint pink watermelon, white sunshine,
a litter of golden retrievers.
i am terrified of silence, and what it might mean.
that time near haba river, i galloped till dawn,
and yet i thought, faster, faster,
until nothing could catch me, not even my problems.
there has to be a point beyond the speed of light
where a person’s bones become weightless.
there has to be a certain point
where i can outrun even myself.
we paint blue horses on the hospital floor.
i open the windows so the light can sneak in.
--
[3] A traditional festival of the Kazakh people living in Altay, China, which celebrates the new year and the arrival of spring
--
Rongfei Mu is a full-time student and part-time poet based in Beijing, China. When she is not writing depressing poetry, she is either dreaming up her next novel or obsessively rereading her favorite biographies of Robert F. Kennedy Sr.
Rongfei Mu is a full-time student and part-time poet based in Beijing, China. When she is not writing depressing poetry, she is either dreaming up her next novel or obsessively rereading her favorite biographies of Robert F. Kennedy Sr.