Scabrous streets, dead nerves cushioned deep below.
Jenny Xie, from “The Rupture Tense”, The Rupture Tense
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A question perforated, come undone
Against which you brush, and brush, and brush again
Jenny Xie, from “The Rupture Tense”, The Rupture Tense
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She sews the streets together with hurried steps
Jenny Xie, from “The Rupture Tense”, The Rupture Tense
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The lure of foreignness, pressed lushly into cellophane wrappers.
Jenny Xie, from “The Rupture Tense”, The Rupture Tense
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Faces warmed by the lanterns of screens
An intimacy built on unread gestures
So you're the lucky one, she murmurs, before leading the way into sleep
Jenny Xie, from “The Rupture Tense”, The Rupture Tense
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The cousin insists on linking arms beneath the scholar trees, their stiff shadows crossing
Jenny Xie, from “The Rupture Tense”, The Rupture Tense
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A misfire of allegiances
Jenny Xie, from “The Rupture Tense”, The Rupture Tense
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When the morning shivers through the windows,
some damp spots, coins from another life, left on the pillow.
Jenny Xie, from “The Rupture Tense”, The Rupture Tense
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Jenny Xie, from “The Rupture Tense”, The Rupture Tense
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Small glances, from afar, that one keeps in the front pockets.
Jenny Xie, from “Meeting Places”, The Rupture Tense
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Jenny Xie | Solitude Study
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SELF-PORTRAIT WITH FIRE - Heather Christle
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Jenny Xie, from “Postmemory”
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And before I cast my curses
on those who persevere in loneliness
and hesitate to return my greetings,
I remember how often in the chill
we leave tender skin
bloodied, alien, and dry.
Maya Abu Al-Hayyat, from “Massacres”, You Can Be the Last Leaf: Selected Poems, tr. Fady Joudah
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The Essential American Worker
— Saeed Jones, from Alive at the End of the World
[text id:
America kills me, then says “now get back to work.”
[It’s 7 p.m. again; it’s time to clap.]
[It’s 7 p.m. again; it’s time to clap.]
[It’s 7 p.m. again; it’s time to clap.]
I know
a ghost like mine don’t come cheap.]
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I keep running in empty rooms,
to begin my day as if yesterday didn't end
and tomorrow won't come.
Maya Abu Al-Hayyat, from “Massacres”, You Can Be the Last Leaf: Selected Poems, tr. Fady Joudah
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Callously, I pass through memories.
Love on the faces
of adolescent girls also passes,
makeup and sorrow eat it.
Maya Abu Al-Hayyat, from “Massacres”, You Can Be the Last Leaf: Selected Poems, tr. Fady Joudah
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