Tag Archives: Katie B. Tian

sunday            christmas morning—             santa brought me play-doh and a cup full of naivete. and mama, over the years i’ve             watched how you cherish that present long since my outgrowing it: those days when the             sky is melting and laced with obsidian … Continue reading →

slowly, i am forgetting the face of my shadow, the names of my ancestors and the shape of my body carved alabaster. my mother is in the kitchen forgetting my name so i have to scoop out my bloodred heart … Continue reading →

i. dawn remember the first summer             when we called ourselves sisters: how we ran cherry pits off our tongues and buried them beneath the conifers’ gilded stems.       how we were untouchable— girls in shiny taffeta all puzzle pieced together weaving … Continue reading →

            after Ernest Hemingway’s “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” I.                         The sign’s been hung since                                                                         Sunday, corrugated plastic lit             under the alley’s kerosene lamps.                                                                         On the salesman’s desk, a lone matchstick                                                             of light folds into itself like origami, flames             licking … Continue reading →

on sunday, your grandmother meets you on the curb of a half-moon new york city, flown in from the sichuan province for new year’s. for new year’s you both go to the new chinese restaurant downtown. the waiters do not … Continue reading →

how can i pull a kind of reckless reminiscence from the fish market in town—that sunday, i went alone. the gardenias were unwatered when i returned, the chamomile unsteeped, and i could only wring the salt from my sundress and … Continue reading →

you’ve made a home in the space behind             my vinyl headboard, loose limbs fitted against its quiet curvature. your fur             jaundiced, thinning around the belly, a memento of the hurricanes, of the late nights spent             praying for comfort. look how … Continue reading →