Tag Archives: Jonathan B. Chan

eyes pried, thick before daylight, washed of residue, cautious of the shrouded silhouette in the bathroom mirror: steps for today. swallow the embers and smoothen the tongue. play as the players as audience is one. loosen the tendrils that creep … Continue reading →

after an hour’s drive and cautious trek, halmoni stood before haraboji and said, “your grandson will study what you loved best.” between her pensive silence and my high-waisted pants, i felt i was recollection made flesh. Jonathan B. Chan is … Continue reading →

사랑하는 할아버지1 you’re in the gait of my walk and the length of my strides, my high- waisted pants and the glide of my pen – mom always mused of this cross-lingual literary inheritance. your wizened last days were my … Continue reading →

rinse the cabbage, it’s raw and needs a trim. with your halmoni’s tender touch, massage salt gently into its pores, passively but not until it smarts; now, under some strain, let the water run over. ignore the corners that escape … Continue reading →

i am as tall as the garage door now. i lie across the steps that lifted boots damp from crunched snow. i peer in the kitchen, i knew it by the finish of wooden counters and peanut butter breakfasts. i … Continue reading →

we sing a chorus without context, incomplete yet resonant, soundtrack to tireless walkabouts, facsimile of wide-eyed panic and words sputtered and fingers twitched and fingernails gnawed, spiralling, deceptive. we thread loose strands of emotion through an uphill climb, a campus … Continue reading →

to subsist on teaspoons of measured silence is to nourish what’s dry after a day’s mouthful. a dash of otis and a little joy to season the peeled leather off a blank sole; intimations of tenderness lace each tile of … Continue reading →