An excerpt of The Chaos of a Separation
Once there is no more noxious activity,
marriage destroys itself and lives inert.
Inside divorce is a cloud of compost:
the irony of waste.
The night we disposed the rest
of the fruit was undesignated.
We noticed there was no more
fracture of light.
You could say it was a sign. My mother calls
divorce convenient and selfish. I look
at the galaxy of remains on the grass patch
sprinkled in the shape of our statute.
The next morning, I woke up,
fingers clenched, palm alone:
a spectral longing of my right hand dreaming.
My poem The Chaos of a Separation (or “乱丢垃圾” in the Chinese title) can be found on page 123 of Tayo Literary Magazine, Issue 6 (2016). It is a literary home for works which slice “into the phantasmagoria of the oppressed, marginalized, post-colonized, and diasporic life”. More information here.