Amy Gong Liu

Seasonal Greens

for Juno

 

i hate //

 

          this primordial

goop    of spring       // when everything

gets to be sticky. and i can’t

stop thinking about sex

 

           and the          children in

 

//

 

           the crabapples.

 

//

 

oak and cherry // you’re 

 

//

 

banging on my

shoulders, like a child,

to the beat of sanity’s

Metronome.

 

so while i’m

waiting for you

to finish you

might as well              //          keep on your

toes 

 

until they freeze 

(brittle, like this house of worries):

 

             // Carefully to your west, my lover,

 

at a family that once populated; at

the remnants that once held our nails,

now; all rusted and overgrown. /

Happy Valley Road 

 

Dear God 

(in the cemetery

on the bright 

side of the hill

with alkaline

doves for graves):

 

I wish I could

torch the kind 

who wave goodbye 

with nothing 

but their eyes.

Amy Gong Liu writes poetry and prose about the Sino-American diaspora, translation, longing, loss, and more. She has been published in The Columbia Review, Rabid Oak, Hobart, Foglifter, and others. She thinks too much (or perhaps too little).

 

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