Hobble Creek Review
| YZ Chin |
Merry Christmas
Watching snow falling
outside,
covering shallow hill mounds until
only tips of tough dry grass show
like white bushy forearms
so uncommon among my tropical family.
Warm within this house
I've begun calling
home,
I place a bite-size Buddha
among by three shepherds
facing the manger
to watch over baby Jesus.
Trying To Lose My Accent Because I suspect It's
Why You Left Me
My friend in Texas doesn't pay taxes, even though he works three
jobs, one of which involves cutting down trees.
He said: I graduated from my country's best university, but this
sheet of paper is worth shit here.
I ask: The difference between marrying Alan and Ellen—is there
one? Even when you're desperate?
*
Tomorrow I am going to pay the rock by the lake a visit and reenact
how we sit, limbs perched on limbs, precarious and sweet.
I never thought you would leave me, even though the leaf you use as
a bookmark must have been warning enough.
Because I still remember how you belatedly summoned up courage to
kiss me, when I already had my keys inserted into my front door lock.
And on our second date we sat in a cemetery and thought of the dead
as romantic.
*
As a teen I listened to my grandfather talk about mining tin. I would
listen and rub his back with soap. I would think about soup cans,
about how much I hate Andy Warhol.
And it's those little stories I shared with you that I want back the
most, rather than things you bought and I destroyed.
The shoes here never fit my feet anyway. They make me very weary.
*
You asked me for a Malay word because you were not creative
enough to come up with a secure e-mail password.
What kind of word? I asked. A strong one, you said. I gave you benci.
Like bench? You asked. No, I said. Like benci. Hate is not a seat.
You don't sit on it.
*
Heavily underlined in my notebook, under the title "Phyx": Voltage
does not depend on intensity.
Watching snow falling
outside,
covering shallow hill mounds until
only tips of tough dry grass show
like white bushy forearms
so uncommon among my tropical family.
Warm within this house
I've begun calling
home,
I place a bite-size Buddha
among by three shepherds
facing the manger
to watch over baby Jesus.
Trying To Lose My Accent Because I suspect It's
Why You Left Me
My friend in Texas doesn't pay taxes, even though he works three
jobs, one of which involves cutting down trees.
He said: I graduated from my country's best university, but this
sheet of paper is worth shit here.
I ask: The difference between marrying Alan and Ellen—is there
one? Even when you're desperate?
*
Tomorrow I am going to pay the rock by the lake a visit and reenact
how we sit, limbs perched on limbs, precarious and sweet.
I never thought you would leave me, even though the leaf you use as
a bookmark must have been warning enough.
Because I still remember how you belatedly summoned up courage to
kiss me, when I already had my keys inserted into my front door lock.
And on our second date we sat in a cemetery and thought of the dead
as romantic.
*
As a teen I listened to my grandfather talk about mining tin. I would
listen and rub his back with soap. I would think about soup cans,
about how much I hate Andy Warhol.
And it's those little stories I shared with you that I want back the
most, rather than things you bought and I destroyed.
The shoes here never fit my feet anyway. They make me very weary.
*
You asked me for a Malay word because you were not creative
enough to come up with a secure e-mail password.
What kind of word? I asked. A strong one, you said. I gave you benci.
Like bench? You asked. No, I said. Like benci. Hate is not a seat.
You don't sit on it.
*
Heavily underlined in my notebook, under the title "Phyx": Voltage
does not depend on intensity.
YZ Chin has been living in Chicago for the past four years. She performs web
support for RHINO, and has previously served an internship for the Beloit
Poetry Journal.
support for RHINO, and has previously served an internship for the Beloit
Poetry Journal.
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