09-17-2017, 09:54 AM
This is my story,
a make-up-artist's tale.
I place final decorations on those
whose lives have ended.
My Russian uncle took care of me
when my parents made The Great Leap.
I do not worry about survival.
I never have to rely.
Uncle passed his skills on. I have become
a continuation of him.
When I show you my work
it makes you sick. ‘What a job’,
you say, ‘making the faces of
dead people. My God!’
Before I begin, I pray for them.
Then a formaldehyde injection.
Next, a face cleansing
with fine cotton swabs.
I refine beauty, fixed momentarily
in the world of memory.
No matter who, rich or poor, high
or low, I am their final consolation.
I make them seem happy. Even
this couple; a love-inspired suicide pact.
I refuse to work on those who
stubbornly won’t resign to fate.
‘Here’ you say ‘these blooms are for you.’
You knew they stand for eternal loss.
A nation like me is unsuitable
for any man’s love.
‘What sort of job do you have?’
I am a master of disguises.
I hide corruption, control
time, rewrite the stories.
I perfect lies. I am
a make-up artist.
a response to XiXi's 1982 story A Woman Like Me, referencing contemporary Hong Kong
a make-up-artist's tale.
I place final decorations on those
whose lives have ended.
My Russian uncle took care of me
when my parents made The Great Leap.
I do not worry about survival.
I never have to rely.
Uncle passed his skills on. I have become
a continuation of him.
When I show you my work
it makes you sick. ‘What a job’,
you say, ‘making the faces of
dead people. My God!’
Before I begin, I pray for them.
Then a formaldehyde injection.
Next, a face cleansing
with fine cotton swabs.
I refine beauty, fixed momentarily
in the world of memory.
No matter who, rich or poor, high
or low, I am their final consolation.
I make them seem happy. Even
this couple; a love-inspired suicide pact.
I refuse to work on those who
stubbornly won’t resign to fate.
‘Here’ you say ‘these blooms are for you.’
You knew they stand for eternal loss.
A nation like me is unsuitable
for any man’s love.
‘What sort of job do you have?’
I am a master of disguises.
I hide corruption, control
time, rewrite the stories.
I perfect lies. I am
a make-up artist.
a response to XiXi's 1982 story A Woman Like Me, referencing contemporary Hong Kong