Lechmere

Sierra and Tango, twin apartments
looking out to the railroad tracks.
The Orange Line runs here, a double-decker train
departs for Salem, Swampscott, Rockport,
stations conjure up the sea and light
and the daily trip to the general store.

Now we face the big Pharma,
multi-floor labs, bio-meds, red
lights pulsing on top of the buildings
housing Philips, Sanofi, Bristol Myers Squibb.
Now the sun
crushes itself on the glass walls,
workers in slim suits take over the park,
even asleep bright lights from the offices
dim our dreams.

Nathan Road, Hong Kong

When I’ve returned to my city
it has sprinted forward
like a gleaming fast train.
Puff chested visitors
push pass everyone, quickly
disperse to luxury shops
and Michelin-starred restaurants.
Even the evening sky, once
unafraid of tenderness,
now framed in blasts of gold,
unyielding as an imperial decree.
In the outer channel the new
three way bridge is a keel
of tense muscles, tunnels
and viaducts, caissons
and cofferdams, limes
and clays, bringing in
the darkest of fleets, storms of flags
accompanying officials
from a country
we still can’t believe is our own.

ARE WE THERE YET

“In the spring of 2020, as Covid-19 was beginning to take its awful toll, The US started by ‘flattening the curve’— and never came up with a plan for what comes next. New York City would see 10,000 cases and nearly 1,000 deaths every day by early April.”–Vox, December 31, 2020

do you love
what
you see

the air is
exhilarating
so close to
goddamn where

we are dangling
at the edge of the water
we are dancing
on the golden sand

you got me dancing with you
even wildflowers ache

only, you shrug
forget me then

don’t forget how I love you
my out-of-breath dancing

too late for fiction
too much data

climb

climb

climb

but a false one
and a false one

this could be the summit
we are really paper tigers swimming in the lava

we are going up we are riding out the curve
are you scared?

how thin the air is, the beeping heart-machines, the humming oxygen flow,
I have no idea

we won’t be saved by a navy ship now the sea is a rising darkness
it was always our meadow to squander

Pui Ying Wong is the author of Fanling In October (Barrow Street Press, 2023) and three other poetry collections: The Feast, An Emigrant’s Winter and Yellow Plum Season along with two chapbooks: Sonnet For a New Country and Mementos. She has received a Pushcart Prize. Her poems have appeared in many journals including Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, Plume, Chautauqua, Chicago Quarterly Review, New Letters, Zone 3 and others. Born in Hong Kong she now lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts with her husband, the poet Tim Suermondt.