220: Through a Glass though Which We Cannot See
Through a Glass Through Which We Cannot See
by Lo Kwa Mei-en
ourselves, a dead star is the only luminary
around for years. We see it a temple, then
sack it. I needed something, so I sang it.
O my Jupiter, magnetic war-dreamer who still
swings by & low— I couldn’t wear my red, red
storm on the bright outside for five hundred years.
I was a part, all surface, madly mirrored
across the world, just a stare, & kissing
back a false dreamer in the basement shrine.
The sofa would make no amends for being an altar.
The moon, too, had to be hauled up from there; once
now a needle, she tattooed the sweeping rib of
sky with the shape of a young woman’s bark.
Once, I saw the alarming & cooled heart of myself,
the swallower & expert of damage but not of repair
in myself, & found new ways to give it all
away. Made a gun of two fingers & a thumb, jerked
to the throat, hunting & hunting & turning in the dark.
& O bright star of disaster, I have been lit.
"Through a Glass Through Which We Cannot See" by Lo Kwa Mei-en, from YEARLING by Lo Kwa Mei-en, copyright © 2015 Alice James Books Used by permission of Alice James Books.