Current
Issue
Volume 12.2
Jess Yuan
—
Girls
Many crowd in springtime, frayed twenties, my window
Square and open. This month the sheets are washed,
At night sprouting thick thoughts, I am worried and one of many.
On the billboards they are eyeless, strong-minded, they throw
Themselves endlessly into never enough. I cannot, must not pine
For greener days of dusty horses, thee and thou, white memory.
Marble quarries are disemboweled then recast, to become Ophelia—
How I want her, want to be her, through the golden light of the European wing.
She is celebrated, hollow, and flat, neither model nor warning.
I cannot, must not fall for his models or write beauty into death,
Or celebrate the golden chain, the manager’s praise, more must keep me
Pacing river to river. Oh how I want to be someone, anyone
True—.
Bio Copy here
