the promise of a
new year is in a
bowl of ddukguk,
for every strand of
flesh reveals the
body that wastes
away, every bite
of dduk the coins
fade as the sun
sets, every crunch
of kimchi that sour… more »

after Carol Ann Duffy’s ‘Hour’

This evening, in the train station,
I ascended, you descended—
our eyes met, then I turned away.
My husband was behind me, and
you went home, to your wife and child.

It’s hard to believe … more »

“He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with
shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.” – Psalms‬

kuala lumpur | houston, 1981.
they say these streets
were paved with aspiration.
the ranches are … more »

your blood goes picnicking at a grave
            brooms and burnt paper in hand

4/4/[2000 + 4×4]

At Qīngmíng only the magnolia huā (花)
bloomed munificent white against a grey curb.
Like the first mourner at a mythic funeral
you—little (华)… more »

In Pakistan, grey smoke stacks curl up
to sun. Skin browns on roadside
as we throw makai into each

other’s mouths. Eyes sting from rising flame,
salt, chilli powder. Uniform shirts untucked
outside schools. At seventeen we cross over.
Return … more »

A fallen giant of imperial industry,

with a toe in every peasant’s backyard,
lonely, despite the people living in it.
Lost rocks of an empire
litter the expanse of its own domain
like an uncomfortable welcome mat.
If the stones … more »

on the train i see my grandfather | as a young man

10,247 km of water | seven seats away

looking through his reflection | at darkened mountains and doubled stars

ye ye | but that’s not his name

should … more »



the radio producers dilemma


driving my derelict mazda home after a shift

visors down to keep the electric sky from crashing my car

its 1246 and i hear myself on the radio talking about blind canadians

awareness … more »