Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Poetry 2019 | Page 78

qī,
they leave and yet,
I follow, like a lamb
to the slaughter
outside his room, we cover our faces,
with towels taken from the kitchen,
where Chef Ting cooks the food
that give the crewmates indigestion.
and it starts.
i run to Zheng He,
sleeping peacefully on his bed,
an intelligent, talented man,
the leader of so many others
my hands cover his mouth,
but not his nose, we don’t want
him to awake,
g a s p i n g for a i r
the carpenters find the egg,
its grandness even more
awe-inspiring in our hands.
they whisper-call to me,
i take my hands off
i run
but
i look back once,
i pause.
are his eyes open? i do not know
i do not dare to wander up to him
to see if he was awake the whole time,
and just never said anything.
back in quarters,
the egg stuns even more.
how can God create this massive,
this powerful yet this delicate,
delicate thing?
stashed safely away,
we congratulate ourselves on the heist,
but I can’t help thinking,
were we found?
i have the answer to my question tomorrow:
yes.
bā,
Zheng He comes around
to everybody’s quarters
and feels their hands