Art, Poetry & Essays Portfolio

Flu

Water drips from my nose like tears, pattering down. I lower my head and see them clinging, droplet by droplet, to my wool coat. Black pepper churns in my stomach. The evening glow melts into a cream cake. Wearing glasses is incompatible with the mask, turning the autumn trees into Impressionism.

Beijing, 2019

Pas de chat

The dance teacher tells me to feel the air [ ] with my skin. Fill the air [ ]. The more you feel it, the more you'll shine.

Flow Cats feel air's temperature and currents, with their skin. That I have long heard— their sensory receptors. Their tails, like octopus tentacles, unfurl in the deep sea. like a vine, like a spiral, like the hem of a jellyfish's skirt, Nestling into the ocean's deepest ripples.

Locationless, dateless

Urban rebirth

We |stand| without support, Or perhaps we tumble. We learn to breathe carefully, Or risk inhaling the scent of a stranger's scalp. We glimpse many private details: Hairs on necks- oil from hair- dirt beneath nails- A scalped cutting into a pulsing organ- The surgeon learning from bloody videos- Erotic novels and chat histories on a giant phone screen. Struggling to squeeze out of the subway, we exhale, My sister exclaims: It feels like I've just been born. The rush hour turned us into twins.

Locationless, dateless