By Liao Yiwu
Let me sit her in this corner.
The imagined
praying cell.
With my hands handcuffed, with my hands
behind me.
Making a sign of the cross,
my hands.
For you, Miao Miao, my daughter,
a sign of the cross.
The little thing that probes and peeks,
a sign of the cross.
I eat you from the dust every day,
a sign of the cross.
The cement sunroof splits; a moon.
I see you
on that mountain, on that fog in the mountain, you in a saddle.
Translated from the Chinese by Katie Farris with Ming Di