You, drowning
I’ll tell you how we’re wrong enough to be forgiven. How one night, after
with falling.
by Ocean Vuong, read the rest at Poetry Magazine
Art and shiny things…
You, drowning
I’ll tell you how we’re wrong enough to be forgiven. How one night, after
with falling.
by Ocean Vuong, read the rest at Poetry Magazine
Such were the years, a dumb stuffed thing
to say, if truth is we all grow old un-
observed, limbs flail only halfway up
a flight, where does dark begin settling
my little bones. I dream and do love
to have them, blue fish
in a lake, my head more tipped up than down
under damp earth. Some days others like deer
from the shot, peeled back, how nuisance I
find trees dressed in wild
green light. The years come, unstitched
a face, saddled as one would a heavy beast
for walking, likely I became then a member
of heaven, put up, the years come and reaching
their long wet hands.
-Wendy Xu, Guernica
rt Sarah Breese
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald