summer dusk: his bowls of fruit punch yawn,
tucking ants into tinted mirrors—the twitching makes Red 40 ripple slowly
a mummy mumbles tenderly despite the gharials flashing
thrashing fish in his face.
& the river nibbles at Sangha Tenzin’s robes: still, he yawns
scorpions rear stingers among the saguaros—the sting
embeds in teddy bear flesh but the anticipation (a desert) ached, yawning.
from Xi’an apartments, some hear a car crash pain; initial pain,
perhaps like police in the US: they arrive for the press, for noisy shutter yawns
hurricanes grow lazy in california, drooling aliens into the morning—
in China, longitude lines have feasted into dusk. they yawn.
Richard’s pen— the white page—
blood in specks, in stripes— it curls up for a nap before the funeral, yawning
Richard Zhu is a rising junior at The Peddie School in Hightstown, NJ. His work has been recognized nationally in the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards and published in Polyphony Lit, Two Degrees Anthology, and Bitter Fruit Review. He is an editor-in-chief of the school literary and art magazine Amphion. Richard loves hot oil noodles and Iceland’s stunning waterfalls.