Our neighbor actually has a much newer house
But they have never stopped renovating it
For the past four years; always so noisy
Even in the depth of dead night.
More strangely, they hire no one
But do everything by themselves
Their materials looking extra-ordinary, for
They are made of human flesh and hair
Their paint smelling of human blood
Their exterior walls dotted with bloated eyes
Of human infants. No one knows
What kind of house they are trying to have
Yuan Changming, nine-time Pushcart and one-time Best of Net nominee, published monographs on translation before moving out of China. Currently, Yuan edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Yuan in Vancouver; credits include Best of Best Canadian Poetry (2008-17), BestNewPoemsOnline, Threepenny Review and 1309 others.