Who could possibly be reading the seahorse kingdom?
This week, which is now last week, I am/was:
stressing over poem revisions
running nowhere in a glass room
having Disney princess dolls launched at my head
making birthday preparations
reading and loving Sputnik Sweetheart
learning new songs (darn that F#m chord and my small hands)
The little white house on the hill
sits engulfed in thick grey smoke
brushing the edges of the white
paneling as it floats up & up.
Inside, a tiny old woman stands
at the front window wrapped in
a blue satin blanket. She is
brown and wrinkled, and her
white hair is tied back in a bun.
She does not see well anymore.
Rescue workers have evacuated
every house on the hill except
this one. The old woman hid
in the attic when the firefighters
came to her door – she knew
they would make her leave.
She has watched the smoke travel
up the hill to her house and beyond
and believes it is fog, the marine
layer that has not burnt off.
Yesterday, she lied to her sister
in China, muttering into the telephone
that there would be no room for her
in the little white house
once she arrived in San Francisco.
Today, feeling her guilt, she knows
that the fog brings with it her
great ancestors from China,
who come to warn the woman
against unsisterly behavior.
The fog smoke rises to the top
of the hillside.
The old woman stands at her
front window and waits.
en el escenario,
el mismo pelo largo y recto,
ojos azules apagados,
con un vestido
con un fondo de pantalla
de la lámpara y
cascabeles en los tobillos.
Ella iba y venía por el escenario
con la cabeza baja,
con poco entusiasmo
pulsar una Tamborine
contra la palma de su mano.
Ella dijo que estaba tan triste
que esta era su última noche
en Los Angeles.
“Hace frío de donde soy,” ella dijo.
Yo quería decirle que
hace frío aquí, también.
Pero sólo en la noche.
but a complaint. For Christmas, my dear mother gave me a book I’d been wanting since I heard about it on NPR: Best of Contemporary Mexican Fiction. The cover is beautiful, and I like all the stories so far, but I have to be very careful when I read it because none of the signatures inside the book have been sewn in. Can you believe that? The pages at the spine have perforations where it seems like the stitching would be, but there is none, and every time I open the book widely, a group of pages slips out. I want to send an email to the publishers (Dalkey Archive) saying HELLO, you forgot to finish making this book, and now I can’t read it outside on windy days!
Water Dog
A letter from a stranger.
“You’re a water dog,”
it says. Welcome to
your new home,
where the water is
dry and the air is not
there. Your tongue is mostly
sweet, but sometimes sharp,
and you are stubborn
and eccentric. And
though you have
no say in the matter,
it is a truth beyond
your grasp and larger
than your small body
that you will always
feel the black shadow
gliding
beneath the light
on the water.
driving us through
the trees, scattered piles
of leaves on the wet road,
the car jerking
as she brakes for squirrels,
and then a deer.
No, just a shadow.
Her hand on my back
guiding me to our cushioned
seats, now her hand
over mine as she prays in
English for my safety and,
though she doesn’t quite know
the words to say it,
I feel it in her hand –
a comfortable transition
into my new life. I listen
to the short and quick
words from the man in
the front of the octagonal
room, and Eunjeong
whispers translations
into my ear the best
she can, waving her hand
in circles when she can’t
find the words, as if
beckoning them to appear
on their own. After, she parades
me around like
her newborn baby.
“New housemate.
From California,” she tells them,
and the older ladies in
little suits and quilted handbags
bow and laugh with friendly
eyes and one points to the top
of my head and they all laugh
together. I touch my head
and smile and pretend I am in
on the joke. Another hand
on my back scoots me
toward the line for soup,
clear broth with beef and
chopped onion, which I sip
out of a Styrofoam cup.
On the drive home, I stare
out the window into
the darkness of the trees.
Eunjeong points to the moon.
“So beautiful,” she says,
and our teeth shine
in the moonlight.
Seahorse Kingdom 