An excerpt of The Chaos of a Separation


3.

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

4.

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.

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