Nothing screams love more than food, and Song flawlessly executes the poem’s richness through her sound and imagery.
Shrinking the Uterus Read More »
Nothing screams love more than food, and Song flawlessly executes the poem’s richness through her sound and imagery.
“The day we left the pineapple fields /Mother cried.”
The Pineapple Fields Read More »
“The day we left the pineapple fields /Mother cried.”
The day has come when my mother
no longer knows me.
It comes on a day of dying
paperwhites, crumpled
like words torn from a typewriter.
“The Day Has Come When My Mother,” by Cathy Song Read More »
The day has come when my mother
no longer knows me.
It comes on a day of dying
paperwhites, crumpled
like words torn from a typewriter.
She thinks of the lost possibilities,
the one that remains hidden in the grass
unnamed by yearned for —
the idea of a bright one,
stranded,
star-gazer, poet, mathematician.
“Vasectomy,” by Cathy Song Read More »
She thinks of the lost possibilities,
the one that remains hidden in the grass
unnamed by yearned for —
the idea of a bright one,
stranded,
star-gazer, poet, mathematician.
Pig’s feet helps shrink the uterus,
which after birth is a flabby bag of muscle.
Pig’s feet helps get rid of the old blood.
So I am told.
“Shrinking the Uterus,” by Cathy Song Read More »
Pig’s feet helps shrink the uterus,
which after birth is a flabby bag of muscle.
Pig’s feet helps get rid of the old blood.
So I am told.
