She is two-stepping in an Arizona bar with some old-timer, the walls hung with adobe, tassels, turquoise bracelets for sale and the stereo bleeding out early 90's country-folk. The Indians at the bar are leaning in, stoically awed by the way this city girl already has the West in her eyes. She will not… Continue reading poem: my mother has done everything
Tag: free verse
poem: sex ed. from camelot
When I was younger, I spent some ten or so breathless hours lying on an unmade bed, grey sky clamped above me: I was reading one of my mother's books from college, those years when she went through her pagan stage and believed in abortion and Earth Mothers. The legacy of that is kept on… Continue reading poem: sex ed. from camelot
poem: 미국 사람, 한국 사람 (or, No More Dream)
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)
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
the last pavilion 