Tag Archives: Cindy Xin

Uncle, landing

It is February and I realize all dreams die. My pen grows throats the size of Polaris, and I stare: the havoc in the snow, the moss over the cathedral’s surface, and the images: Uncle Shin, hand jolting out of … Continue reading

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daughter & her dishonest sacrifices

the sun spoiled mother deep / the way it worked: / sunday bleaching soy milk metallic / steam clumping in hunks out of throat into sourgrass / there is a way to cut dry / with chin high & hands … Continue reading

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The Unholy Hull of a Girl Untaken

When you learned your mother was but a child, the night was still a salve for secrets. A secret: the sun can drown in sweetness. There was kindness in the blade as she split yams into soft sugar and you, … Continue reading

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