Spring in the Hutongs
Often, we trod around Beijing with our heads down, attentive to commotion and cars and cyclists only within a narrow radius. But expand your depth of field and you might really see this city.
Spring in the Hutongs
I’d forgotten it could be like this,
green dangling off the trees.
You can’t unsee it, once
you look, the streets
canopied, the lush
leaning forward.
The young hold milk teas
and hands, dress like
the future their grandparents
feared, ripped jeans and
crop tops; the merchants
of coffee and handicrafts
show off their stock.
How spring took its time,
how it knew yet to arrive.
The 7 p.m. news touts
Xi Jinping visiting unis
talking of Red genes, Red
blood — a Red future
for our blah blah
blah. Sit in the paling red,
the peach-blue evening light.
Let it sink in: there is light.
There it is on your skin, on
the black locust, the juniper.
