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Category Archives: Poetry
Room
The paintings on my wall stayed there until 2018. all the workings of my imagination, rendered imperfectly on paper, watercolors, pen, ink, color pencil – it’s like childhood, really. the way they started neatly on one corner of the wall, … Continue reading
The Hallway
I’m still in the hallway, waiting for the door of my prayers to be opened. on the other side are all the things I want – joy, peace, the feeling of being understood. I patiently wait, I don’t fiddle with … Continue reading
This New Life
On special days you’ll see people go to the street of flowers— where farangs like me buy roses and orchids— special days like birthdays or when a young man enters the monkhood, they buy jasmine garlands to grace the spirit … Continue reading
Linden, Sycamore, Mulberry, Catalpa
I came from the house dwarfed by the linden tree in the yard on a street of shotgun houses and abundant trees, where leaf-shaped shadows danced on the living room walls, where I chased maple seed pods as they helicoptered … Continue reading
In Pockets
consequential things we carry in secret next to our bodies, the corpse of a lightning bug I once tried to save mingled with blades of withered grass, an intricately folded invitation to the muse in the swirling handwriting of my … Continue reading
Transformations
In the otherworldly landscapes of the Southwest, dwarfed by the monuments of what time and erosion have wrought, my husband bought a souvenir bag of polished stones. Geology to hold in our hands. Now that he’s dead there’s comfort in … Continue reading
Self-Portrait in Middle School
The teacher fiddled through the cup, pulled a purple crayon, a red crayon, and a green crayon, and laid them one by one on my desk. I’m not the kind of person who’s easy to draw. The mirror tells me … Continue reading
Shedding Season
Not only will there be a carpet in the living room, but also in the hallway and kitchen, my sister said, the softer timbres of her voice drawn out in an easy laugh. Our cat was stooped next to us … Continue reading
Squirrel
I almost stepped on it, the squirrel slumped in death-stance over the curb, a net of black spots—fleas?—pinning its underbelly. Looking left to right, I realized there was no one to tell, that only I could see the killed animal … Continue reading
Hula-Hooping
You’re trying so hard to balance the hula-hoop that you forget to balance yourself you said. I began again. The hoop swung twice around my waist, fell below my barely-hips. Mom? I said, and you tilted your head, hair falling … Continue reading
Echolalia
On a middle school field trip you proposed to me with a ring of white clovers your best friend knotted together and gave you, saying Go. A few girls braided their arms and hunched around us as you got on … Continue reading
Turning Fifteen
I’ve told this story before. Not the story of a generation of stowaways, or the story of a hand reaching from behind my seat on the train, but a story meant to imbue something solid into the many roads leading … Continue reading
Our Faces
As we took the train from Edgewood to Washington, an old man in a red sweater sat next to us, each fold of his cheeks crushed into the next like weathered planks. Twice, I glanced at him, tried to prevent … Continue reading
Moonbathing
Picture this: it is dusk in the countryside. The fluorescent lights from the pool shine all the way to my backyard. We are summer-drunk, mosquito-bitten. Itching at the scratches on our collarbones, hidden by the necklines of our T-shirts. Acrid … Continue reading
the aftermath of us
in the shadow of the sharp-toothed moon, i dip my fingers into the hollow of your collarbone. restless, we breathe ourselves into the dust gliding in the sunlight. how beautiful are the dancers with their tendons cut, muscle melting into … Continue reading
all things oriental
on a gold-washed morning, my mother tells me about the pearl & how it is torn from the flesh of the oyster’s gaping mouth. yellow run through with red, an arrow, a soundless scream. & what can be done with … Continue reading
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self-portrait as my mother’s reflection
mama, we hold love like water in our hands, drink it down and pray for a body that can bear more than just children. this is a bloodline tainted in a way we don’t understand: i am what you left … Continue reading
give me ribs
I want another rib to compliment a stolen rib. A background of dancers and drink-holding ribs, rib-crushed dancing to Scrapple from the Apple, horn squawking over the ensemble’s smolder ridges. Give me chest pain as I stagger on river rocks, … Continue reading
A gluten for chocolate published
dark liquid where the butter separates & I’ve devoured a quarter of the globe, bags of Indian snack mix, torn edge of a mushroom pizza, where burnt mecca rips through the roof of the mouth. With my hands I mix … Continue reading
IT FEELS LIKE NO ONE HAS EVER LIKED ME, NOW THAT YOU LIKE ME, THE WAY THAT YOU DO
and what am I supposed to say to that? don’t you know you are the pulp of me? why didn’t you tell me you were beneath the bark of the white birch tree across from kindergarten? I would’ve kept peeling. … Continue reading
Excess
After rain, the river dividing the city, winding through the valley, surges, full, hurling almost grotesquely overstepping boundaries, opaque, feigning solidity, new depths hiding everything. Only last week, everything was snowed under and dull, differently obscured the lost things keys, … Continue reading
Tempest
And in a carnival of clouds of that dulled January day the Midway of a gray Ohio sky— can’t you see the swings fly by, the whirl of signs, lights flashing? A festival this is. There, the whoosh of some … Continue reading
I’ve been told my way of loving is selfish.
No – no, it is not the same as last time and you can’t convince me that it is. If it is true that everything is lined up ahead of us, like in the stars, does that mean we have … Continue reading
Ephemerality as Haibang
There, through the car window. The sky a brocade of shimmery dark velvet. I am nothing more than a moment here. Just today, I ate haibang for the first time in years, the shelled flesh soft and mushier than I … Continue reading
subway boy
suppose a brown-skinned boy walked to the scratched-up vegan glass at the place you work with soft light in his tree bark eyes and talked about how a redwood grows from a sapling, wiry and sharp-limbed with a desire for … Continue reading
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