Poetry on powerPoetry on power

1. 10,000 steps a hum
sturdy red support yellow tile cascade
one metal figure waiting water to quiet mind’s battle
metallic rain horde means fill your bathtub cook all food no water in grocery store gas
station line to empty leftover white cardboard boxes crush floorlength we unpack lift
higher
no bathing showering do we have an axe? a tight set of drawers in lungs
slow a breath for ritual smoke
open late door and friend a shoe on busy rack
enter already-breathing room one hundred golden figures sitting in perch
each sewn seat in neat
considering attic a man walks in front of watching window no shoes we could second
each foot slowly again again
floor it a message says to knock on airbnb door

2. man or woman? man or woman? no other options at check-in ladies or jocks? no time for questions 11 size sneakers pair of grey shorts woman’s blouse children’s shoes what size? line of eagers at distribution line all-day Rice University students writing orders

fill big blue bags sort assembly walkers toothbrushes pillows blankets hot
commodity special line form right
‘don’t you Mister me!’ I see who want ladies’ shoes repeating request ‘I’m not a
Mister! I’m not a Mister!’ no response before turning away from line toward line of beds
volunteer supervisor no time
I write post-it please no assumptions note please respect questions
please no time

3. friend said ‘all the aunties chanting’ brought me green
one sound four meanings I enter inflection meaning mother not horse
meaning guide sits sings lesson from diverging
mouth
chemical cloud pings a hot, rushing air all bodies in yard humming in mind
thick infection in head
can’t say I broke much trying not to ingest 10,000 hurricane microbes
let go spider tendrils

4. at lost and found eyeglasses a credit card note left at desk because no cell phone
woman in wheelchair checks in again no cell phone cold box
pizza
white-haired unshaven’s waded waters wants help calling FEMA
Louisiana to Katrina lost bags maybe at last shelter lost daughter son back in LA we roll through
shelter names and phone number inhale smoke dial disembodied numbers to receive
heart knows
attach sister in empty seat
cling worthy ache bring down rain
why chant dead grandmothers into room animal set loose in chest only one a
believer other a cook preparing food hungry repentants

5. when street drains pressure in street
all notes escaping injure try not
exhume breath from body
walk away dead night throw arms to air
hoping for birds to land

Ching-In Chen is the author of The Heart’s Traffic and recombinant, which won the 2018 Lambda Literary Award for Transgender Poetry. Chen is also the co-editor of The Revolution Starts at Home: Confronting Intimate Violence within Activist Communities and Here Is a Pen: An Anthology of West Coast Kundiman Poets. A poetry editor for the Texas Review, they have taught creative writing at Sam Houston State University and attended Jade Buddha Temple in Houston.

Published January 25, 2019
Creative WritingMagazine

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