Category Archives: books poetry lit

Poetry: “The Colour of Pomegranates,” Sujit Prasad

Digital art snowfall Japanese winter
rt

It cuts through suddenly, expertly, this want to talk to you — like the way you used to open pomegranates. Nothing was wasted, not time, not an extra ruby-seed on the inside. You always said that one does not cut a fruit — you ask them to open, gently, and they would let you in. They knew you would be fair while splitting them. I try to talk to you, cutting through time. It does not open. It says, learn from your mother.

-Sujit Prasad

Poetry: “Here Will Burn for Us,” Alicia Hoffman

Kites by Frostwindz
rt Frostwindz

Ashes in the tinder
of morning. Red breast
of robin on the lawn.

Sometimes, gravity
is the slow knock
of heavy bones

greeting another
sunrise. Sometimes,
heaviness is all we own.

read more

Alicia Hoffman, Rust + Moth

Poetry: Is It Better Where You Are? by Christopher Salerno

 

Japanese illustration wistful rain

RT

The bakery’s graffiti either spells HOPE
or NOPE. But hope and results
are different, said Fanny Brawne to her Keats
voiding his unreasonable lung.
Getting off the medicine
completely means light again
blinking to light. Device returned
to its factory settings. The complete black
of before the meteor shower
above the bakery. If you lose the smell
of leather, lemon, or rose,
studies show you will fail at being

read more

Poets.org, Christopher Salerno

Poetry: “Personal” by Tony Hoagland

image

rt Gemi on Pixiv

Don’t take it personal’, they said;
but I did, I took it all quite personal—

the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;
the price of grapefruit and stamps,

the wet hair of women in the rain—
And I cursed what hurt me

and I praised what gave me joy,
the most simple-minded of possible responses.

The government reminded me of my father,
with its deafness and its laws,

and the weather reminded me of my mom,
with her tropical squalls.

read more

Tony Hoagland, Poetry Magazine

 

Falling Lessons: Erasure One – Motionpoem

“My father steps into a field of lost
sensation, sunflowers, a yellow star”

I had the pleasure of interviewing Beth Copeland about her gorgeous poem “Falling Lessons: Erasure One.” The poem is about the loss of her father to Alzheimer’s, and was transformed into the above video for Motionpoems by Ahn Vu (it was also featured on PBS Newshour!)

Read my interview here 

Poetry: “Such As” by Wo Chan

Cornfields illustration
rt Pon-Marsh

My mother was a fever. My father was a restaurant.
Every noon he fed his lungs to an entire city.
Every night he held my belly searching for a suburb.
I was the firefly that flared only once in my father’s kingdom.

read more

-Asian American Writer’s Workshop, Wo Chan

Poetry: “Power Outage Elegy” by Nathan McClain

My daughter can’t understand
why, when I press the button,
the parking garage door doesn’t budge.

The car stuck. The park too far
for her small legs to walk. These things
happen, I say. It’s no one’s fault.

In the apartment courtyard, the tenants are gathered —
one complains he’s missing the Laker game,
one can’t charge her cell phone,

another’s laptop is dead.

The power,
of course, isn’t the problem — we’re each unprepared

for such sudden loss,

read more at Waxwing Mag

Poetry: I Loved You From Another Star by Rosebud Ben-Oni

Girl waiting on bench bus stop illustration

rt Bluesaga331

I Loved You from Another Star

He’s always coming back, our neighbor, never quite here.
His wife, who teaches English, will never leave Seoul,

so he’s present part-year
                               past-participle— a joke he tells without a face.

We watch
his cat Monkra who looks exactly like our cat, who also wakes him
before sunrise, whining for food. Call him Momo for short,
and we do, no questions. He deals in import-export,

never carries a briefcase, only a pamphlet
of English grammar his wife authored.

He says she doesn’t understand

what I do for a living,

that poetry is for children and nine-tailed foxes

favored in Korean dramas that he and I discuss in secret,
away from our disapproving spouses.

read more at Berfrois

Rosebud Ben-Oni

Poetry: New House by Geraldine Connolly

There’s always the illusion the museum I carry
inside me, of coal dust, black bread and worn-out brooms
could turn into a seaside palazzo of framed lithographs
and immaculate linens. There’s the hope that some magical
storm could sweep over my life, making dinners prepare
themselves, dust motes fly back into the atmosphere,
newspapers slide out of their messy heaps into trash bins.
Geraldine Connolly, Rattle

Poetry: “Plum” by Gemma Mahadeo

It already sounds alluring
in your Eastern European accent,
and mandatory to the tongue.

I recall snatches
of Williams’ frozen plums;

read more

Gemma Mahadeo, Tincture Journal

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