by Deborah Jang
They say you sang like an angel
on that island in the bay
where foghorns drowned out
nighttime murmurs : children’s
names recited, prayers to deaf
dumb gods, poems chiseled into
barrack walls, lives left out
in the rain.
I heard them say I have your giggle
and your preference for peaches.
I never touched your flesh or face
but this is what I gather:
From Fat Yuen to Gold Mountain,
from girl to wife now claimed,
tides ferried you from village
hearth to far foggy days.
The island where the angels weep
nabbed you just offshore. Offered
a thin blanket, cold rice,
interrogations, and a dreary
three month chill. Finally you
and Gong Chow found a spot
to land on. You served up rice
to sailors and to homesick fellows
hungry for your song.
My mother June, your feisty first,
Roslyn and David followed.
Restaurant shiny, children strong,
then came the day to return,
history called you home to China.
June refused to go along and kept
Roslyn too. The clouds and tides
that brought you here, ushered
you back through.
Within two years word arrived
Gong Chow died in China
like he wanted. One month later
on a whisper you too passed
away. Especially on misty days
I listen for your song:
I know your fathoms of despair,
your gentle grasp on pleasure.
The peace of spirit that you seek
encompasses all in-betweens,
measures life in graces. Though
ocean tides rip heart from heart,
the interwash of time and tide
returns us deep to deep.
© Deborah Jang. All Rights Reserved.
Deborah Jang writes her way through the mysteries, perplexities, and joys of being human — on this planet, at this moment, in this skin. She is also a visual artist, engaging connection through forms and objects. She wanders between Denver, CO and Oceanside, CA; between mind and heart; between land and sea. She invites you to visit her website at deborahjang.com
Urban Fauna
by Kim Shuck
You know how the deer on Market Street are
With their stoplight eyes
Picking their way down old runoff paths
Past the disappearing relocated indigenous women
The ravens are here to sing us visible
Drumming on their collection of upended pots and Industrial buckets
Don't you tell me how we've changed
We were right there Near the department store
Near the burial sites Singing to the ancestors
This isn't an abstract gesture
It's not a schoolroom exercise
There are predators here
And the maps of safe passage change every day
And the wind comes up in the afternoon
Don't you tell me how we've changed
The roots of this hill have learned what to call us
Just about
Our clothes collected for the festival
Our family members taken to who knows
You might just sit down and listen for a change
I'm not part of your curriculum
We're a whole other thing
Light reflecting off of the miles of glass
How many feet deep was it?
Can you hear the water like shattered windows
Piled just like them
Just there where the tall buildings lean like stealing
© Kim Shuck. All rights reserved.
Kim Shuck is a complicated equation with an irrational answer. Shuck is the current and 7th poet laureate of San Francisco and will have a new book out from City Lights Press in the Fall. www.kimshuck.com
You know how the deer on Market Street are
With their stoplight eyes
Picking their way down old runoff paths
Past the disappearing relocated indigenous women
The ravens are here to sing us visible
Drumming on their collection of upended pots and Industrial buckets
Don't you tell me how we've changed
We were right there Near the department store
Near the burial sites Singing to the ancestors
This isn't an abstract gesture
It's not a schoolroom exercise
There are predators here
And the maps of safe passage change every day
And the wind comes up in the afternoon
Don't you tell me how we've changed
The roots of this hill have learned what to call us
Just about
Our clothes collected for the festival
Our family members taken to who knows
You might just sit down and listen for a change
I'm not part of your curriculum
We're a whole other thing
Light reflecting off of the miles of glass
How many feet deep was it?
Can you hear the water like shattered windows
Piled just like them
Just there where the tall buildings lean like stealing
© Kim Shuck. All rights reserved.
Kim Shuck is a complicated equation with an irrational answer. Shuck is the current and 7th poet laureate of San Francisco and will have a new book out from City Lights Press in the Fall. www.kimshuck.com
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