Wanchen Cao is a Chinese poet and creative writing researcher.

She is the author of Seven O’Clock (Anhui Literature and Art Publishing House, 2018) and holds an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Southampton.

Her work explores dreams, memory and embodied experience. Working between Chinese and English, she is developing the poetry collection 02:60: When Poetry Presses the Bed.

Be Good, Child

Carefully dress this cage in a princess’s beauty,
set it with brilliant false diamonds, bright colours,
to hide the shadows in the corners, the blood inside.
The door is built of tricks, concealing its devices.

Go inside, child. This is your cosy little home.

A puppet on strings needs no heart that longs for freedom.
A pretty doll need only stay in her little nest
and keep smiling.

Be happy, child. This is your beautiful world.

Princesses in fairy tales have no tears. I do.
Princesses in fairy tales have princes. I do not.

Be content, child. Here is everything you need.

A princess should not go outside. Too dangerous.
A princess should not meet other people. Be noble.
A princess should not resist or struggle. No need.

Open the door, child. Your only family is here.

But the whip and ruler are hidden under the pillow.
But there is no key, no telephone to the outside.
But all I can do is cry alone each day.

Be obedient, child. Look how beautiful it is here.

Snakes and spiders hide in the night without sleep.
The princess doll kept by monsters calls to Death.
Only nightmares keep her company through hopeless days and nights.
At last tears and blood have dirtied this beautiful cage.

Watch, child. Never think of leaving in your lifetime.

Making Thin Porridge for Beggars

The preacher stirs this pot of porridge,
pouring in brown rice day and night!
Never mind where it comes from or what colour it is,
just keep adding rice!
The more he adds, the more customers come;
even handfuls of small notes can build a wall of gold!

Add water, add water, add more water!
Fill this endless pot!
No oversized grains accepted; too few customers means faulty goods!
As long as it looks edible,
just keep adding rice!
The suppliers’ thresholds are so high,
the preacher’s pockets are so full.

More fire, more fire, more fire!
Swear to burn the whole world!
His body glows with excitement, flames shoot from both eyes!
A blazing human world is made!
Ha! The preacher’s name is sure to live forever!

How I Wish I Had Never Looked Back

Keep this running posture.
How I wish I could always be fleeing, never looking back;
unfortunately, that is a dream that cannot come true.
Death can only recognise clearly that love exists,
never drawing me away from evil, back to reality.
Beauty seems a bargain made with the devil;
happiness or violation—I no longer dare to love.
Some children are born without the right to choose,
yet are taken for granted, treated alike, despised.
If the price of so-called extraordinary art is a lifetime,
if a person really can begin again,
if I imagine I never lost anything, never went mad,
then keep fleeing, do not look back.
Let me not see that blood-soaked reality,
that blood-soaked self.

Publication note

The Chinese originals appeared in Seven O’Clock (Anhui Literature and Art Publishing House, 2018). These English versions have not previously been published.