POETRY: “The Evenings Are Long (After Mei Yao Chen)” by George Freek
These willows are crones,
drinking tea, sipping
tea with the newly dead,
who have arrived recently.
Around them, the […]
UChicago's Oldest Literary Magazine
These willows are crones,
drinking tea, sipping
tea with the newly dead,
who have arrived recently.
Around them, the […]
One night, I dreamt a mouthful of broken teeth,
Jagged, inescapable ruins, salt white like the desert,
Wet like the jungle’s crawling underbrush.
The next, the faces of every clock smashed,
Hands palm up on the floor […]
I wanted to write of things seen new,
not screaming hate on deafened ears,
not watch-words or double-speak imbued
with harsher tones, forgotten […]
A being formed/not formed yet
into anything more than an orb
in a photo on our refrigerator—and this
pulsation will one day break
through embryonic sac, her skull […]
A lawn of fallen leaves
glints like the Bronze Age.
Shadows carve the dark
out of their own
likeness, […]
Jackie! Here’s to you, girl!
To your Voice
Once so stifled, so
Afraid of its own sound
Never saying, “No, no. […]
In kitchens the women
read Revelations,
lean toward black electric fans.
A screen door slams. Out back,
damp slips hang limp from […]
I hope you don’t mind that I’m holding your hand, dear sister-in-law,
I don’t want to hurt you. But these knuckles, I’d know them anywhere.
For such a delicate woman, your knuckles were always so wide, large, bony bumps.
The only large thing about you. I think this is the first time I’ve touched them. […]
I spoke to the mirror
twisted my spine
it curved red ribbon
around a carousel
it cracked beneath […]
When arthritis made her wince, she muttered
the town name as metonym for a cold, crowded prison floor—
a journey, world war, and privations away
from the woman I knew: wizened in a faded dress
at her dining table in L.A., her magnifying […]