Poetry — September 10, 2012 16:27 — 0 Comments

Poem – Jane Wong

In the middle of the night,
a cloud formed

a storm inside my face. Garbage gathered
in the storm,

in the eye-ash. Nothing
was wasted, the waste was covered over

by ideas. At the very center
of the storm,

the sky was so blue you could hold it
in your hand and throw it

like a bomb. For years I lived
this way: with words

that had to do with carrion.
I have learned to cast

away my enemies. I have lit
their insides clean.


Jane Wong lives in Seattle. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Mid-American Review, CutBank, Best New Poets 2012, Octopus, and others. She is the recipient of fellowships and scholarships from the U.S. Fulbright Program, the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference, and the Fine Arts Work Center. She has two chapbooks: Dendrochronology and Impossible Map.

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney