It took me two years to gather the courage, the spirit, and the hot-sesame-oil breath to write this poem. This poem ends my forthcoming book, "How to Not Be Afraid of Everything" (Alice James, 2021). In this book, I have a series where I speak directly to my ancestors who were lost during the Great Leap Forward (1958-1962); this is the only poem where they speak back to me. In speaking to me, I love that they decide to throw a massive feast. They are voracious, joyous, and impossibly hungry. I feel comforted by this poem, by my ghosts.
Jane Wong on "After Preparing the Altar, the Ghosts Feast Feverishly" |
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"Poem of the Week: Old Flat, Abandoned"
"As you reread the poem, the more echoes and echoes of echoes become audible. The narrow sparseness of the structure seems mimetic, and the reader finds themselves climbing the stairs of the empty flat, and hearing many distant footsteps."
via THE GUARDIAN |
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We oppose racism, oppression, and police brutality.
We will continue to amplify diverse voices in the poetry world.
Black Lives Matter. |
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What Sparks Poetry:
Raquel Salas Rivera on "Churchless Sunday"
"One verse in particular left me unsatisfied with my translation: 'pasan bajo el calor de mi ventana' became 'pass beneath my sweltry window.' 'Sweltry' is a weighty word, and I imagine the nuns suffering under their frocks in the Caribbean heat, but 'calor' remits to human warmth, even tenderness, those things—like the smell of used books and towels and the entangled scent of incense—that are of the flesh." |
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