Leopard

by Gong Xuemin
     trs. by Fan Jinghua

In the 1970s, on the wall behind our county co-op counter
hung a piece of leopard pelt purchased from a peasant.

Bring it on,
I turn the grapeshot from my previous life to blossoms over my
body.

Iron rushes in the wind, and behind me bit by bit the village gets
lost;
The breath of the treetops decays on the green hills,
Diffusing at the speed of iron.

Dawn and dusk are seamed together,
Human traces come between and become
The powerless red despair in my legacy.

I plant iron in the earth, and let it sprout and grow,
As the village turns pale in the tree shade, regretful.

The fist of my pelt takes hold of the iron and runs,
The distance I can cover determines the length of the iron.
The faster I run, the slower the iron,
The longer time the village has for itself to decay.

I fish, with the line I draw with the speed of the running iron,
The dining table of the forest is shrouded with the white cloth of
the sky,
While hungry birds sing.  The gold coins over my body
Are baiting the village into flying.

Bring it on,
I have been glorified by the blossoms of grapeshot
And made into the last flag, a verb
Nailed to the wall.