1 poem

by j. xiang

Mission San Jose High School

ā, á, ǎ, à

You split my neck open and
pull the cords out. Pull
like puppet strings, waxing
floss, my throat a pulley.
Don't you think
you should've been nicer when
mom hopped through syllables,
an injured dog at the show.
Spell with shivering fingers,
pronouns all crossed over each
other just to ask if you're fine.
Defenestrate your
self to pick lemons off the tree by
the street. Wanted more, wanted
to write with lined-up letters,
bent, falling over each other,
hooked dominos laid upright.
Love your
mismanaged, imitated accent
wrapped in battleships of
mixed-verbiage phrases.
Love your tones, selling off
every word. Love to take
English, pressed into crevices
of stone, into weathered pestles
of food-dust, and then
buried under the old home.