Coat Hanger
- Coat Hanger
wood, gentleman, winter, home, pets, dreams
You were a wooden coat hanger.Your body, half-clothed. No hat could alter your looks.No gentleman's hat that tipped to highlightYour smile. You were an exquisite gentleman'sCoat hanger, with pale skinny arms growing upward.
The wood grain was fading, paler and paler.The winter, too, was half-clothed. No gentleman's hatCould disguise the looks of the past.No gentleman could. No black gentleman's hat could.The gentleman who kept a catCould wait at a station in winter.Like a tree that grew paler and paler, leaves falling.
Winter was standing behind him.It imitated his shadowAnd considered itself a tree.It was getting skinny.It felt cold.You're like a wooden coat hanger prepared to move home.The hat and the four assembled seasonsWouldn't follow you.They would remain in paper boxes, deepIn their sleep, dreamless and naked.The cat would stay to guard the home.
The wooden grain was fading, thereonA more brawny winter.Its moves started to be aggressive.Sunlight was leaking,Doing push-ups nearThe cat's ears,You still managed to smile [End Page 53] Like a gentleman, one who no longerDreamed about the walks in the cold.
His shadow was a skinny stop sign.It stood here all seasons, mistaking itself as your hand,A hand that forgot its assemble-work or didn't get collected.Sometimes, the shadow thought it was still inside a paper box,Wrapped in newspapers and cradledBy noise, like a cat that still didn't understandIt had been surrendered.
You were no longer that cat.Not guarding the home anymore, not taking away the hat.Say something comforting.Say something less exquisite, more undisguised—Such redundant noise.
Farewell with a hug.Like winter, its pale but sweet sounds of falling leaves.Your bus arrived. You boarded.You took a seat in the last rowAnd slept groggily.Your mouth—still exquisite, dreamless,I already saw through it at a glance(A city-to-countryside bus ride)—Gently opened. Your drool lightly shimmered,Breaths misted the window.You seemed to be mumbling.Your image froze on the swerving window.The one I had no luck passing through. [End Page 54]
Born in 1993, chen po-yu has won numerous literary prizes in Taiwan, including the Lin Rong San Poetry Award and China Times Literary Award. He is the author of The Bubbles Maker (essays) and two poetry collections, mini me and recently The Art of Rivalry. His Chinese translation of Robert Hass' Summer Snow was published in 2022. He currently lives in Taipei.
nicholas wong is a poet, translator, and visual artist from Hong Kong. He is the author of Crevasse, winner of the Lambda Literary Awards in Gay Poetry, and Besiege Me, also a Lammy finalist. His recent work can be found in Georgia Review, Cincinnati Review, Black Warrior Review, and The Rialto.
