Liu Xia’s burden has become too heavy. Her heart is beginning to fail. In isolation, she can only stare at a tree through her window, a tree that a bird can only dwell on:
Is it a tree?
It’s me, alone.
Is it a winter tree?
It’s always like this, all year round.
For the Tin House blog, Liao Yiwu reflects on poet Liu Xia’s body of work, and how it is affected by Chinese history. Yiwu discusses Xia’s personal and family history as well, and presents a series of Xia’s poems.
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