Dreaming in a language I can’t speak
This is not a souvenir.
This is not what it looks like.
Her name {雯}
means multi-coloured clouds.
I almost tattooed it on my skin
while explaining over and over
this is what you can’t see:
the pieces of language that fell out of my mouth
as a child, the crushed-up words I pull back
from disappearing rooms inside disappearing homes,
the name my grandfather gave me {明雅}
two characters I still cannot write beautifully—
a sun 日 next to a moon 月
a tooth 牙 next to a bird 隹
She gave me a seal with my name carved inside it.
In a room full of untouched sunlight
I let hot wax drip onto my palm
leaving a mark that will fade over time
like the imprint of rain
in burnt chrysanthemum clouds.
In the dream-mirror
I open my mouth
and birds fly out from between my teeth.
They do not make a sound.
from Magnolia
live in the layers 