Burning eyes, open wide— I could be you too, despite the tears and eyes as dry as a seahorse on an apothecary table underneath the Chinatown sky. David Ly is …
Category:
Poetry
And then I met him: worshipper of my body down on his knees, his tongue so kind between my thighs. Be my boy for one more night, his tongue insists …
My mother left me a suitcase of sweaters she knitted in mohair, wool, acrylic in blends of burnished ochre bright carmine, sombre blue, sea green. I see her now in …
To see my mother slip away— like witnessing time being reassembled, the missing hands being reattached, the frozen hours and minutes retrieved from the crumbled heap, put back in their …
The boat ran out of water. She stepped out and missed the silkiness of mud between her toes. A homeland flows down cheeks crusted in sea salt. David Ly …
The air, like always, drips from upside-down pig heads. Drips and drips and coagulates. A basket of dried seahorses is forgotten, tumbles down, caught in a breeze and ba …
i am fifteen. there are things i will often say: i’ll never date an asian guy there are things i will never say: my middle name lok-ling there are lies …
… I thought I could land in a few days. How was I to know I would become a prisoner of suffering in the wooden building? …I only wish I …
Under our great gunvernment which now hates z-turning most our society is a true socialist democrazy full of shitizens (and stupigs) While many a department and its head are trying …
We are pleased to begin Asian Heritage Month with a poem inspired by the Indigenous writer Richard Wagamese by W.B. Akeroyd, which details his musings on his background as a Hapa man growing up …