After ‘Wild Chrysanthemum’ by Jiang Tingsi

Ella Pringle

A scroll strung up taut 

as though on trial for its sumptuous stomach,  

blooming with the lightly kissed bruises 

of purple chrysanthemums.  

 

This garden has not moved in years, 

the bold accusation of red ink  

stamps 

sink into its tightly woven skin.  

 

It is left here, head pulled back in the beautiful agony 

of crucifixion on straight wooden shoulders, 

to lament its bare fate on the wall. 

And the light throws a loud white  

 

over its strained form; its complimentary plaque. 

As these people stroll toward 

and leer, closer 

at this time-spotted face, 

closer still at its silk belly between a sternum 

 

and waistline of gold…  

I cannot help but wonder  

if the time it spent forgotten, coiled up tight in some dark  

box, is comparable to the exposure  

 

of her body unrolled 

and exhibited to groups of people  

who plug their ears with flimsy headphones  

that narrate her story for her. 

  

There’s nothing that escapes the silence of that glass sheet; 

I’ll never smell wild chrysanthemums.  

So I plug my nose  

cover my ears, and read the plaque 

Author: Ella Pringle

Artist: Jiang Tingxi

Edited by: Nyah Marsden and Lara Madeline Rand

Editors: Coco Thompson and Tia Shang