Jun 27, 2022
Poems of 2020 [Practice Reading with Vocabulary
I am always busy wanting other lives
— Claudia Delfina Cardona
I thought whiteness
was something I could grow into.
At sixteen, I aspired to be
a Mexican-American Margot Tenenbaum
reading J.D. Salinger in the bathroom.
I took so many photos of myself
in the hope of finding someone else.
I stare at the shape of my mouth
and find my father.
I stare at my silhouette and find
a matriarchal lineage of longing.
I feed pennies to the cosmic
wishing well every night,
and ask for a sliver of what it is
like to embody desire.
I wish I was the type
of person who says, I don’t care
what other people think,
and actually means it.
I don’t like admitting
that white propaganda
has caked itself onto my brain.
Like a week old sunburn,
I am peeling a little more every day.
Once I swang at the Barbie-shaped
piñata while my tío tugged at the rope.
Her yellow, tissue-paper hair rustled
in the hot March air while the next kid cracked
her rib cage open. My brown friends and cousins
watched her hemorrhage
with strawberry candy
I ate all week long—
IN MY NEXT LIFE LET ME BE A TOMATO
BY NATASHA RAO
2021 Gregory Djanikian Scholar in Poetry
lusting and unafraid. In this bipedal incarnation
I have always been scared of my own ripening,
mother standing outside the fitting room door.
I only become bright after Bloody Mary’s, only whole
in New Jersey summers where beefsteaks, like baubles,
sag in the yard, where we pass down heirlooms
in thin paper envelopes and I tend barefoot to a garden
that snakes with desire, unashamed to coil and spread.
Cherry Falls, Brandywine, Sweet Aperitif, I kneel
with a spool, staking and tying, checking each morning
after last night’s thunderstorm only to find more
sprawl, the tomatoes have no fear of wind and water,
they gain power from the lightning, while I, in this version
of life, retreat in bed to wither. In this life, rabbits
are afraid of my clumsy gait. In the next, let them come
willingly to nibble my lowest limbs, my outstretched
arm always offering something sweet. I want to return
from reincarnation’s spin covered in dirt and
buds. I want to be unabashed, audacious, to gobble
space, to blush deeper each day in the sun, knowing
I’ll end up in an eager mouth. An overly ripe tomato
will begin sprouting, so excited it is for more life,
so intent to be part of this world, trellising wildly.
For every time in this life I have thought of dying, let me
yield that much fruit in my next, skeleton drooping
under the weight of my own vivacity as I spread to take
more of this air, this fencepost, this forgiving light.
POSTCARDS FROM THE LIVING
Jenny Qi
I light incense on the stovetop, trail cinders
through an empty house. I’ve decided to believe
in the power of ashes: Here I am,
buying fruit, mending torn shirts, brushing teeth
in cramped bathrooms, living
someplace new. Wish you were here.
I sprinkle sandalwood dust on the ribbon
from my first 5K, the token from my first solo trip—
milestones so small and unremarkable,
only you could understand and be proud.
Remember world-history class, how I translated
lectures to you each night, partly to practice,
partly to keep you with me? Every day,
there’s so much new I want to show you,
like the spongy tang of injera, pork belly
banh mi melting like butter on the tongue,
all these places I have traveled without you
so I can forget how without you I am.
Remember when I was 10 and hateful, trying
too hard to be cool, how in a rare moment
you said all you wanted was for me to love
my life, my only life, this life you started?
Here, look how the clouds blush so fiercely;
the stark blue winter, so cold and bright.
Heart medicine for courage
When I need courage, I draw plants
Like safety can be quantified in drawing, therefore knowing, weeds which grow in my yard, at the side of the road, in the arroyo
In this dry gritty dirt where I sit, life springs up unadorned where animal or wind dropped seed,
in the middle of everything
Pencil lines arch, friction of hand slides over page, shakes loose what scares me
As shape becomes form, confidence is inspired by stems flung open wide to sun
Leaves bend in flow of breeze, shake loose, give themselves some room
Tiny flowers at the end of long peduncle
Entire plant, smooth to the touch
Blue-green leaves notched at the margin
Later, learn: Leaves edible, medicinal herb
Papalo Quelite
A practice to learn the secrets behind a name
Fortitude unearthed by greeting what lives at my feet
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