Yuna Kang
On the Wall at the Crocker Art Museum
Fresh fallen snow:
A photograph of a painting is what you
show me, it glitters strangely and is obscured
by thumbs, a smudge, the glare of doctored sunlight, and
the insurmountable distance between me and it,
the moment, but you lean in closer to me—
to tell me of standing there.
of stealing the photo in a jostling crowd, telling me of details
uncaptured by the moment, intricacies lost except for in your telling. and,
show me, it glitters strangely and is obscured
by thumbs, a smudge, the glare of doctored sunlight, and
the insurmountable distance between me and it,
the moment, but you lean in closer to me—
to tell me of standing there.
of stealing the photo in a jostling crowd, telling me of details
uncaptured by the moment, intricacies lost except for in your telling. and,
in your recreation, in my memory, in my retelling and in further reiterations,
we preserve a multitude of moments, a string of solitary revisions, and
experiences interconnected and new.
we preserve a multitude of moments, a string of solitary revisions, and
experiences interconnected and new.
The Tea-Stained Scribblings of a Bitter-Struck Lady
0.
folded into paper stars and left to be swept away on cafe floors,
you find the ruminations of a stranger arranged
like some accidental constellation.
folded into paper stars and left to be swept away on cafe floors,
you find the ruminations of a stranger arranged
like some accidental constellation.
i.
it leaves me,
And like some half-invested acquaintance,
i only wonder sometimes where it went.
it leaves me,
And like some half-invested acquaintance,
i only wonder sometimes where it went.
ii.
i am not like the gods or monsters you knew,
i am simply the wind.
i wander old record stores and libraries,
trying to piece together the ashes of us.
i am not like the gods or monsters you knew,
i am simply the wind.
i wander old record stores and libraries,
trying to piece together the ashes of us.
iii.
She smokes to forget,
Giggles for an hour, and is done,
Her blue-black locks are singed,
A mistake, she’s used to those.
She smokes to forget,
Giggles for an hour, and is done,
Her blue-black locks are singed,
A mistake, she’s used to those.
She is moonlight, she drinks in the shadow-rich earth,
Dances like a dryad in midnight rains,
and then shrinks away by sunlight,
completely spent.
Dances like a dryad in midnight rains,
and then shrinks away by sunlight,
completely spent.
i reach for her,
but to reach for her is to reach for the moon—
i watch my dreams recede away from me by dawn.
but to reach for her is to reach for the moon—
i watch my dreams recede away from me by dawn.
iv.
rain is peeling down cracked car windows,
and it reminds me of you.
rain is peeling down cracked car windows,
and it reminds me of you.
Cereza
Fresh cherries in the spring match the tint of your
lips, and in the sprangles of the honeysuckle vines and long willow
leaves, that frame your figure like bars of light,
you pouted:
asked me why these things don’t last
forever.
lips, and in the sprangles of the honeysuckle vines and long willow
leaves, that frame your figure like bars of light,
you pouted:
asked me why these things don’t last
forever.
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