Hal Y. Zhang: Three Poems

Photo by Dan Gold on Unsplash

[Image Description: A macro shot of cactus needles in vertical rows on top of vivid green ridges]

Shelly Scully

I am thinking of a sharp thing,

steel-heft, pleasure to cut with.

Fish heads, cold noodles,

sage from the garden. The umbilical

cord, some day. Ticker tape of

the

finest

parades,

gold satin for the winner only. Suddenly

they will come to take it from me,

ma’am do you have the proper

license and registration, but I deconstruct

the red tape too. Awkward silences,

reproductive tubes, the bleeding corners

of your decorative furniture snipped

in one stroke. At sundown I will score

the stars for my scrapbook, then the Earth

in half, pulling the shells apart to lick the tasty

molten

core.

litotes

the gift crow looks in your mouth

blue marble tiny planets popping

on taste buds      plucks

with plectrum of light

the silk of your sinew

fire of your      fire everlasting

come with me it says to your teeth gaps

we’ll fill the absence of sound together

as shadow and life

five forms of tigers

I tilt my head and hope

in search of the absence of sound

rushing in a shadow conch

why would he hit her?

desperate wounded things

that linger in waterlogged oubliette pores

fester, and mildew, and grow

spines out my leaning tower ear

dripping car seat so nonchalant

damp canals are perfect

concert halls for confessions

but there is only sand

find someone like me he says leaning

against the wall he didn’t punch

enough to blanket screams into

abstract sculpture looking forward

stand up straight

forward, only forward

that’s my girl

honorable, manly, all the good things

none of the bad

unbreakable steel mirror questions

your faces guileless shards

my bleeding claws

respectful, strong, dutiful

man of the house except

that one time

that doesn’t count

that didn’t happen

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Hal Y. Zhang is an indistinct particle bouncing between coastal cities as a programmer, scientist, and occasional poet. She is online at halyzhang.com