At the grade eight dance, they find you
hiding behind folded lunch tables,
seize your hands and feet, drag you
across the floor like a mop.
On the dance floor, a girl
feigns stomping on your face.

You run to … more »

Our new L-shaped house embraced
a pool as its heart, a curving
figure eight, turquoise shimmer
mirroring turquoise clapboard.
My father’s pristine pride
May through September. He’d
skim off leaves, vacuum sediment,
push the long-poled brush along the bottom
back … more »

I wrote one
million poems
not one featured
the word brown.

I scalpeled my own pulsing heart
excised all trace of spice or silk
stepped politely away
from ugly temptation,
sari-clad white women dislocating
pinocchial hips

Every poem I … more »


How is a daughter

named? My mother pleads

to the librarian tapping

dewey decimals for the Hanja dictionary;*

a weary oracle of bastards, retards

and girls. Perhaps she pulls

my eyelids; probing

for floaters, films,

blemishes, basic faults… more »

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