ISSUE TWELVE | SPRING 2019
In the dark, lăo lao tells me I am unearthly. In the dark, I keep her in the dark. Her god still
hangs around my neck. I remember:
her god on my breastbone; her god beneath my pillow; her god in my ear at night; I held him
in my heart; he thread my heart on a string; hung my heart around my neck –
she thread him on a string and made me wear him to bed. Her god would cause time to slow;
now wants me writhing, wants me to die for him over and over until I am clean because I am
gone, until the world is made clean: divine
I keep it in the dark,
unearthly: the reason cities fall,
the reason mother earth cries,
the reason mother trembles –
where she trembles, we close our breath –
I keep her in the dark. Her god loves. Her god loves around my neck, loves me in my
screams, is the deluge from her throat, in my throat. In my throat, her god, her god, her god,
my god. You think you love me.
Minying Huang is studying for an MA in Comparative Literature at the University of Toronto. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in PANK, Electric Literature, and Tinderbox Poetry Journal, among others.
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