JUNE
There are flowers on your back. Large, voluminous, like bone. There is a word I am thinking of, I cannot remember. A sword moving around the body, a beard of light flagged down a newer, more fragrant nosebleed. The mind is watery and in love with cake. Nothing was visible beyond it, was narrative, was deeper landscape directing our bodies away from each other.
Lynn Xu was born in Shanghai. Her poems have appeared in Best American Poetry 2008, 1913: A Journal of Forms, 6x6, Court Green, Effing, EOAGH, Octopus, Tinfish, The Walrus, and others. A feature of her poems is forthcoming in the May/June issue of The Boston Review. She is a PhD candidate in Comparative Literature at UC Berkeley. She co-edits Canarium Books.
For more of Lynn:
this item is sold out.