K.J. LI
Meanwhiles
I tear down all the mirrors in my old house
& bury the glass in the backyard: an offering,
or confession by another name. Dig up mounds
of ancient daggers & ask for my face back. The gods
in the attic, smoking & drinking tea in circles, listen
only long enough to laugh at my presumption.
In another universe I uncurl my tongue, give
back their sound, banish their haunting
from the dreams of softer creatures. In
another universe I peel the night sky back
like a wound & dress it in my own clothes. Fold
its soft dark over the shoulders of children who, set adrift,
have unlearned their homes. Here, the only breaking
that concerns us is the ice splitting over frozen ponds
when the birds return northward. & ghost
is only the name we give to any temporary pain.
Meanwhile, in this universe: the sky full of familiar bodies
in the shape of monsters; monsters in the shape
of memory. Meanwhile I am beholden to
the young girl clutching a pocketknife &
wearing someone else’s skin, saying yes,
I want this winter inside me. Meanwhile I taste
the blood in my mouth & unremember its name. I get up
& lie down next to my body. On the radio, a stranger
teaches us how to make the proper shapes of forgiveness.
He does not tell us how it burns the tongue. Meanwhile
in this universe, the night witnesses
a child made into algal bloom
along familiar shores &
in its inevitable receding
quietly swallows him
into light.
K.J. Li is an LGBT+ Chinese-American raised in central Texas. She currently lives in Washington, D.C., where she takes long walks and misses the family cat. Further works can be found at https://kjli.carrd.co/
Art by Gale Rothstein