Posts
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Thunder and the Boat
we're lying,
resplendent
as corpses
on the deck
of our boat,
staring into
the folds of
the universe's
moth-eaten -
Love Poem
I want to write a love poem to a volcano,
but that would involve learning to love God
and I’m not quite ready to make peace
with the war yet. I’m still fighting, still kissing, -
Existentialism
cut the string, swallow the sea, burn the boat.
I never wanted to chronicle the apocalypse.
Easter, Christ rose from the dead like a fresh
loaf of bread. the East had it right, communion -
An Unraveling
I recently came across a translation of Euripedes’s Medea by David Kocas. It felt more like an encounter really, like I'd come across Medea herself: an icon in a barren church, a window into God’s abandoned feminine half, a woman burning with grief. -
The Bus
inch worms are portals,
this one is full of golden light,
a sour smell, and a hum,
humming louder than a hive.
I climbed inside, listened
to it creak as it folded forward, -
Prayer Wheel or Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone
At the beginning of December, I found myself on Capitol Hill for a poetry reading. I had some time to spare, so I walked around the neighborhood’s green-space, Cal Anderson Park.
Loves
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A Loss of Hope
i sit on the classroom floor.
the room is dark and cold.
i press my back against the wall.
the door is barricaded with a chair.
my teacher stands in front of it, as
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Angel
After Jack Gilbert
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Gentle Notes
The door isn't one I can see,
Yet it grows, shifts, and deforms.
When I started there was only silence,
But everyday its volume grows.
The door started empty,
But over time it crescendoed.
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Thoughts About Driving
Sometimes driving makes me wonder
Sitting in a big tin box, travelling faster than a hare
Until I reach traffic and crawl along slower than a tortoise
We spend so, so much time
Moving from one place to another
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tteokbokki
sweet, spicy, tteokbokki,
with many confusing Korean double letters
you are my favorite
as well as my seongsaengnim's
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The East Wind
The East Wind is a rabbi in a darkened shul. He sits pored over the Torah scroll long into the night, his back bent like a cane. People come and go and come again, whispering prayers for the needy, the hungry, the sick.