For Larger Destructions
grandpa liked to joke, every day is one day closer to the end of man,
and he used to sketch objects, a sentiment that I shared with
freezing things in time. grandma & her beauties, who
told me to borrow moments, breathe alchemic breaths.
encase them like mammoths, she likes to remind me
& capture that which the sky
cannot fully melt- is not carbon horizon
-can only persist in
cold, wet dreams
—
Bayou
The witch doctors here have
old eyes
and baby skin
and generous bottles of whiskey
I’ve spent weeks watching
their prized cannibal goldfish who
ate all the other fish and then
ate itself
This place reminds me of how much I miss
sinking into your skin just long enough
to have something
to push away
—
Eulogy
Broken promises are all she leaves
My room is full of her broken promises
I find traces of her proclivities in my room
I store her proclivities in a chest
I wonder if her chest has ever felt a heart beat
If her heart lies within that chest of bones
Before she died I buried her
All of her bones broken
—
Hurricane Season
I hate how you keep mistaking wind and rain for ghosts in the walls can’t handle these months of stormfront dragons aren’t real but it feels good to assign blame me for starting our fight or flight response is what happens when I’m nervous is how your mom feels when you don’t come home at night I’m always the one who gets in trouble.
The weather is good today your hair doesn’t feel like rope is what we used to secure the tool shed to the earth during the hurricane season is finally over. Let’s start again.
—
On Moving Bodies
a blip in boxcar a shiver in a suitcase
unhinges invites
a pair of eyes
automatic slovenly
in hiding them in acknowledging them
his hands are used she leaves the lying
to much for dogs and rugs
—
Sida Li is currently an MBA (no, not MFA!) candidate at New York University. His work has appeared in Hot Metal Bridge, The Saint Ann’s Review, and Paper Darts.
