Rock<\/strong> <\/strong><\/p>\n

How foolish
\nwe were to make
\npromises when we
\nare designed to break
\napart, to find our simplest
\nform, to return to the thinnest
\nvibrating string. We begin as one
\nthen the cord is cut. All we are are clues,
\nmolecules glued, atoms aching to be small,
\nsmaller, smallest. All the decades, all the pages
\nof calendars ripped & forgotten. Each day distills into
\none moment, one night, one voice, fragile as the path through
\nred oak. One beer, one cigarette to share, both of us shivering. You
\nput your hand under my shirt. One rock smooth enough to sit. We both fit.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Festival of the Hungry Ghost, Hong Kong<\/strong> <\/strong><\/p>\n

Dragon boats still search for her\u2014<\/p>\n

the Empress who drowned long ago,
\nwhen stories changed
\nevery time they were sung.<\/p>\n

She was pregnant.<\/p>\n

At least her ghost is not alone.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t believe in the idea
\nof ghosts, even as the wind\u2014<\/p>\n

a press of calloused, real hands\u2014<\/p>\n

held my face. Belts of stars roared.<\/p>\n

I spit over the ferry railing
\nto watch something sink.
\nWhat\u2019s wrong with you? <\/em>A small fire<\/p>\n

blinked like code on the shore
\nas women burned fake money
\nto placate hungry, roaming ghosts.
\nSmall sacrifices.<\/p>\n

In the hotel I ate so fast I burned my tongue,
\nswallowed dumplings whole,<\/p>\n

stabbed chopsticks into the wine bottle<\/p>\n

to catch the plum\u2014a baby\u2019s fist behind glass.<\/p>\n

Everything looks perfect behind glass.<\/p>\n

The bed was long and low\u2014no pillows,<\/p>\n

no blankets, sheet stained
\nfrom the drying line.<\/p>\n

I bit your lip so hard it bled;<\/p>\n

you flipped me on my stomach,<\/p>\n

traced your thumb down my spine<\/p>\n

like a fin tearing the skin of water,<\/p>\n

tried to slide your whole fist inside.<\/p>\n

At dawn I woke to someone leaving<\/p>\n

a tray of moon cakes by the door.<\/p>\n

Legend says rebels hid notes
\ninside each cake to foment revolution,
\nbut how many were lost, eaten with tea?
\nCan you feel it, the moment<\/p>\n

someone\u2019s wish disappears inside?<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/strong><\/p>\n

Shorts<\/strong> <\/strong><\/p>\n

Don\u2019t apologize. Don\u2019t preface. You\u2019re not the only shy one\u2014<\/p>\n

the moon\u2019s full then undresses then dresses<\/p>\n

then wishes she wore the black top instead.<\/p>\n

So what if you turn up to the party in shorts<\/p>\n

after hitching a ride from Uncle Sy, when the others<\/p>\n

don tuxes and park Alpha Romeos on the shady side<\/p>\n

of the pool. The others lean against a piano<\/p>\n

criticizing a critically acclaimed something<\/p>\n

as you camouflage into a caterer,<\/p>\n

lift the Jameson, and slip out the back door.<\/p>\n

Admit it: You\u2019d rather pool hop than talk shop.<\/p>\n

You are talented...in the art of keying cars.<\/p>\n

Pull up your hood, use your finger<\/p>\n

as a gun and steal your own wallet.<\/p>\n

Eat lying down then clog the sink with your thick syrup.<\/p>\n

Get sick and dream a fever-dream spiraled<\/p>\n

as a fiddlehead that gets eaten by a moose<\/p>\n

then shot by a teenager and thrown into a pickup<\/p>\n

bound for Who Knows Where, at least the sun is shining.<\/p>\n

Tell yourself it\u2019s okay to wear shorts, eat in bed, throw up,<\/p>\n

to touch something\u2014to bring your face close to it,<\/p>\n

even the black barrel of a gun, hollow as a throat.<\/p>\n

Anything hollow can sing.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s okay to sit alone, near the window,<\/p>\n

and order whiskey,<\/p>\n

with nothing to read,<\/p>\n

and no one to read you.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Editor\u2019s Note: <\/em>\u201cFestival of the Hungry Ghost, Hong Kong,\u201d and \u201cShorts\u201d\u00a0also appear in the chapbook\u00a0i would ruby if i could <\/em>(Factory Hollow Press, 2013).<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Rock How foolish we were to make promises when we are designed to break apart, to find our simplest form, to return to the thinnest vibrating string. We begin as one then the cord is cut. All we are are clues, molecules glued, atoms aching to be small, smaller, smallest. All the decades, all the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3181","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3181","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3181"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3181\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3287,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3181\/revisions\/3287"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3181"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3181"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3181"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}