Eun-Jae M. Norris
apologies for the asbestos snow
my dearest,
i hope this poem finds you barren. it’s been / a beautiful summer, hasn’t it? / since our last correspondence. / i hope you have been well. / i hope your house burns down. / i hope you have been well.
i hope the geese fly south for the winter. / i hope you watch them go. / i hope the ashes cool / and you are left with what comes after flame, / summer son. / i hope that / when the snows come / the wailing wind scatters you among the bones / of everything left undone, / picked clean by frostbite weevils on overcast mornings. / i hope that / for just one december / you feel the way i do / when ginger turns to dust in my mouth, / like those plastic shakers where / the powder goes teeth-yellow, congeals to rocks / my tongue recoils from names / and tea tastes stuffy / and dinner tastes bland.
do you remember / those times in july? the ones where / the sun lingered in the sky to eavesdrop on us, / the nights / and days / and dawns / and sunsets / the pots hissed and boiled over / back when i felt you / like your palm was next to mine, / back when i only broke / fall-colored skin under your teeth / sweet on you like skinned-knee persimmons, called you / darling / in my head. / you grew me wellness when i was sick with guilt / cursor-blink chamomile, pencil-lead panaceas, / your bedroom an apothecary / with sparks in the walls. / oh, how your garden yielded then. / oh, how lucky my eyes to envy it.
i hope it’s nothing more dramatic / than a crisp christmas morning. / the leaves try at green eventually / you’ll clear the snow from the flowerbeds. / maybe you’ve heard / sage is a wonderful color for a kitchen. / break it in, make yourself a cup of tea / revive what’s frozen. / it is bitter- / medicinal, / the ideas of it migrating here from faraway / to the space between your palms. / i hope you feel warm. / i hope the geese come back well-fed / the same time they did last year.
sincerely, yours.
i hope this poem finds you barren. it’s been / a beautiful summer, hasn’t it? / since our last correspondence. / i hope you have been well. / i hope your house burns down. / i hope you have been well.
i hope the geese fly south for the winter. / i hope you watch them go. / i hope the ashes cool / and you are left with what comes after flame, / summer son. / i hope that / when the snows come / the wailing wind scatters you among the bones / of everything left undone, / picked clean by frostbite weevils on overcast mornings. / i hope that / for just one december / you feel the way i do / when ginger turns to dust in my mouth, / like those plastic shakers where / the powder goes teeth-yellow, congeals to rocks / my tongue recoils from names / and tea tastes stuffy / and dinner tastes bland.
do you remember / those times in july? the ones where / the sun lingered in the sky to eavesdrop on us, / the nights / and days / and dawns / and sunsets / the pots hissed and boiled over / back when i felt you / like your palm was next to mine, / back when i only broke / fall-colored skin under your teeth / sweet on you like skinned-knee persimmons, called you / darling / in my head. / you grew me wellness when i was sick with guilt / cursor-blink chamomile, pencil-lead panaceas, / your bedroom an apothecary / with sparks in the walls. / oh, how your garden yielded then. / oh, how lucky my eyes to envy it.
i hope it’s nothing more dramatic / than a crisp christmas morning. / the leaves try at green eventually / you’ll clear the snow from the flowerbeds. / maybe you’ve heard / sage is a wonderful color for a kitchen. / break it in, make yourself a cup of tea / revive what’s frozen. / it is bitter- / medicinal, / the ideas of it migrating here from faraway / to the space between your palms. / i hope you feel warm. / i hope the geese come back well-fed / the same time they did last year.
sincerely, yours.
Biography
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Eun-Jae M. Norris (they/xe) is a Korean-American nonbinary poet and aspiring author currently residing in the Greater Boston Area. This is xyr first publication. Keep an eye out for their upcoming works on their Twitter at @clicksargassum or the shifting signals coming off that weird abandoned radio tower in the woods near your house. (You know the one.)
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