Tag Archives: Anne Fu

flood

on this walk, i wait for the blue evening to thumb itself into my bony hips like an old lover. in the dark and ripped open on the slush-snow, a crushed rabbit regards me. rounded like the beat-blink of a … Continue reading

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daughter/tiger/tauter/tighter

baba cried the night we had to leave. he is a good man, nearly seven feet tall but wears the air above him like he is asking for forgiveness. the night before we slip            out of this country, he tells me … Continue reading

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does the moon still exist if no one is looking?

i. not this body, no. not this thin un-shape of a child folded up like a switchblade, so close against the crest of my neck. not these hairs standing up on your skin, made upright by the charge between the … Continue reading

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