top of page

ye ye

By Jinhao Xie


ye ye smokes ye ye chuckles

ye ye wants and ye ye gets



years after his death

his daughter complains to you

her father, strange like yours

her father, once you saw, laughing at her

jokes inside community hospital

his teeth the ends of candle wicks

his bad breath his army grey socks

his stubborn habits of holding in

silence inside his long pipe         a pause

because history robbed him young

and his tongue sold weekly in wet market

yodelling songs and dangling lungs

harvested at dawn

his terracotta hands bludgeoning

like a sun




seven-day wake, you missed two

steamed yams and corns and hard roots

the memories your mother try swallow

later, a squat toilet hole

your mother regurgitates into

you looking

after her with a fist clenching

inside your pocket

you smile


I love you


bottom of page