Between the glass facade that the heat of an August afternoon eats into, and the asphalt road that courses like a rumpled river, she sits alone, her hair slicked back to a perfunctory knot. In her basket white against oily brown, flowers confess defeat, carefully wrapped in an old newspaper. What is she if not the last bearer of the last pageantry of a careless summer? Before her perfumed men and women pass by twos and threes and a brutal sun tosses down hot needles.
Still the Cleaving August
The street vendor pedals in the summer heat at noon every shade expelled to the gutter a patch of sewage still the swelter in the cul-de-sac of an unswept lane. Goods strung on the bike cleaving the city in half like a knife into soft bread. On both sides steel silence fused with glass blue, August hammered into every facade bruising his figure into blurring dross. And almost unnoticed he pedals past the violent violet graffiti--
-- Aiden Heung is a Chinese poet born and raised on the edge of the Tibetan Plateau. He writes about his personal past in a Tibetan Autonomous Town and the city of Shanghai where he currently lives. His words appeared or are forthcoming in The Australian Poetry Journal, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Poet Lore, Rust & Moth, Hobart, Parentheses, Southern Humanities Review, O:JA&L among other places. He is a reader of world literature. He can be found on twitter @AidenHeung. Visit his website for more information: http://www.aidenheung.com/.