ISSUE TEN | SPRING 2018
In Chinese hunger
is just a sound 饿饿饿
In Chinese hunger
contains I 我我我
When my family eats fish
we take turns tonguing
the eye adjusts
to our mouths’ dark
bowls
When our ancestors lived in water
they fished the sky entrailing
rain I dive
toward the wreck of our old
bodies
find only weapons:
swords shivered in salt a dagger white
as daylight unlidding
our eyes A white girl asks me
if it’s true we worship our dead
I say is it true
you let anyone kill
in your name What is the name
for outlasting mouths
that miscarry you nation to nation
for centuries men untrained their eyes
from the dark Night a name
for the failure of sight the absence of white
is memory a room that looks
different at every time of day
When darkness walks deeper
into my bedroom I touch
where you touched me shy
of the wound a mouth
A hole so perfect it must be man
made I won’t pretend to like
what’s holied of me: god
-grazing teeth thigh width sea fattening
the fish When the bride comes,
we all feast We feed her a fistful
of salt & our mouths come
loose in sympathy
We kill the chickens
& feed them
to the pigs We kill the pigs
& feed them
to our husbands We solve hunger
by burying our bridal beds
snacking on streetlight
eating our phone cords
When my mother rings I let
the machine pick her up
by the throat & shred
her voice away Last year
I promised not to say anything
I couldn’t translate
into my mother’s
silence I promise not to be touched
unless bruised left some color
to unbecome some ache to take home
& wife Instead, I call my mother every day
from bed beside a woman
I mistake stillness for
a fire on the other end
Kristin Chang lives in NY. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in The Rumpus, The Adroit Journal, The Margins, Frontier Poetry, and elsewhere. She is located at kristinchang.com and on Twitter @KXinming. Her debut chapbook Past Lives, Future Bodies is forthcoming from Black Lawrence Press in fall 2018.