by Hu Xiang

The woman is walking in front
Holding a handful of wormwood
No need to look back, no need to know each other
There is a distant familiarity in the unfamiliar

Like a summer night in the yard
A lighted mugwort rope
Faint bitter smoke
Repelling the gnats under the tree
Telling some stories under the moonlight

Kids running
The whole body exudes
The smell of realgar wine just applied
And the wormwood on the lintel

Still green, bitter fragrance
Like a woman walking in front of me
I don’t know what’s behind the busy city
Have a pair of eyes that are getting old and weak
Sucking in a light breeze
Fresh wormwood with a touch of bitterness
Remembered in joy
But it is one sentence:
Live to the end–
To chew the bitter mugwort (in Tsvetayeva)