Color Swatch 0945: Treasure Seeker

porridge and
urine
staining the edges
along those
old scales
of humanity and
savagery
Other Asian

Each of the girls wears a number
then circles.
Tis is a scream, not a shout-out,
We are Evidence. Evidence of truth. Evidence of strength. Evidence of
the country. Waxed

and contained;

You are still my enemy, Asian America, you are my enemy

I am from

(a cento made of fragments from poems by Vo Hong Chuong-Dai, Connie Pham, Julie Thi Underhill, Azizah Ahmad, Pimone Triplett, Souvankham Thammavongsa, Emily P. Lawsin, Leakhena Leng, Karen Llagas; from the anthology Troubling Borders)

heart

we are
living

tied to men
whose hearts

were tied
at birth, like

pieces of meat
bound in string—

the butcher-chef’s
hands making sure

heart-of-meat
maintains

its shape
once roasted

carapace

Back to the carapace and under again.
What I held in my hands you could not hold also.
Where it was everything was a new place.
Go where you will go that brings you back.
What the book said was not enough.
It was a hazard.
It was alive, to my surprise.
So I burned it.

externalia

1
(hearing) starts with a low
rumble

2
then rorschach
of traffic-sound

3
wheels slipping
through wet   like

4
autumn is here   like

5
suggestion of death or
surrender

6
in the soft clicks
of signal lights

7
and silver coursing
down

8
asphalt veins   like
constant
snakes

9
drum-skin of rain
on city streets late-day

10
falling slightly slant
bodies inside

11
boxes on wheels   containment
is slick

12
wind-whips

13
supple ripples
fux and rupture of what
can be felt

14
but not held

15
it’s the sound of passing but
never touching