the girl knows oppa and saranghae but if you showed it to her, like: 오빠 or 사랑해 she would not know how to make those odd lines of man, earth, sky into the bright music that she sings in the dark. She knows 김 is said as "Kim," because it's the beginning part to names… Continue reading poem: 미국 사람, 한국 사람 (or, No More Dream)
Category: poetry
poem: to those beautiful kdrama anti-heroes
He probably has a plain black baseball cap (where do people even buy those?) and one of those pollution masks that are so vogue in smogged-up asia; or if it's a historical drama, he definitely has black bangs over his eyes, and probably a bit of a scar and (of course) beautiful dark eyes, lightly… Continue reading poem: to those beautiful kdrama anti-heroes
poem: nostalgia, not contrived
the girl sat in her english class and watched the sky flatten itself against the university window, like even the clouds are desperate to get in and learn critical theory. she pulls her sweater over her fingers and silently sulkily puts an earbud in so she can listen to japanese indie and feel like a… Continue reading poem: nostalgia, not contrived
poem: what do i call this
I guess I don't need to talk to him because I already know everything he would say. I know when he would roll his eyes, and that I would laugh; and I remember the few times I was charming enough to make him laugh; he threw back his head, all of his pretention going up… Continue reading poem: what do i call this
poem: lady gatsby
she briefly subscribed to The New Yorker and wore the free tote around to parties, the black handles draped slim over her arms and the fabricked bottom so obviously stamped THE NEW YORKER that it looked forced, especially when hung against her JC Penny dress; "It was clearance," she says, proudly, and people give her… Continue reading poem: lady gatsby
poem: midnight in the dream city
she stood lazily in the shower, watching the drain grow fat with the leftover dreams that come off her like dead skin. she and her friends will go out tomorrow, and make castles out of shotglasses and then knock them over. when she was younger she walked through fields in a red raincoat amazed… Continue reading poem: midnight in the dream city
poem: africa
men left africa. i left them, too. i went back to the caravan cart and sat with my white feet under the tarp, and watched them stream out of the savannah, a great dark comet rolling his way across the motherland. i left them, and i stayed on the continent. i stayed alone, but i… Continue reading poem: africa
poem: woman alone
she is standing at the door, waiting. there is snow powdering down and filling his bootprints; it has been a long time. she puts her hands against her thighs, under her skirts. she watches the silent great sway of the earth. the sun is a single yellow breast, pressed hot against the sky. she puts… Continue reading poem: woman alone
poem: what is not (lost & found)
I am looking for him everywhere but he is not even in my dreams he is scattered over the snow in kicked-up footprints he is the smudges on the windows when I breathe against the glass, watching my loneliness fog into my fingertips, watching him always not appear. little girl (asked in broken english) why… Continue reading poem: what is not (lost & found)
poem: gods at small tables
she walked past him in a red coat. he was sitting in the hazing that comes in the dawn. his back to the window and the world and his soul in his typing fingers, the innocence in him always stark and fresh. his leg stretched out just so, his headphones taped over his ears, and… Continue reading poem: gods at small tables
the last pavilion 