We don’t remember our birth.

When a mother dies, it’s gone.

- Victoria Chang

The ocean is a

bully, always insisting

it understands hope the best.

- Victoria Chang

One by one, days died,

even they weren’t protected.

They have no symptoms

but keep dying. They want to

fix melancholy,

to keep coming back to no

answers, to take the

depositions of orchards.

- Victoria Chang

Waves in August

Victoria Chang

The waves never die.

In May, they look like reason.

They are not violent.

By August, all hope is gone,

even stars are arrested.

I will never love

anyone the way I love

my memories and their cliffs.

- Victoria Chang

The heart

Victoria Chang

Someone trimmed the tree.

Maybe there are no answers.

Small bits of blue sky through it.

Garden

Victoria Chang

Something is growing.

Plath said growing hurts at first,

but when does the hurting stop?

My fingerprints are

all rubbed down from touching time.

- Victoria Chang

The shipwreck

Victoria Chang

I sit at my desk.

Desire is an anchor—

I lift it and words come up.

There are no words here, just rain

on the nape of everything.

- Victoria Chang

Séance

AR

Someone calls for me.

It's myself.

It's terrifying to realize this—

The one who calls

is the one alive.

What can we call it

Victoria Chang

You can’t stop someone

from adding an s to a

word. Loves. Depressions.

Deaths. Griefs. Gods. Most of the time,

the plural of something is worse.

History is dead.

Apricots grieve their old shape.

A dry flower can’t reverse.

Some call this dying.

Those of us who live in it

know it is closer to love.

- Victoria Chang

I write a word and

attach it to a speaker—

someone please listen.

- Victoria Chang

I’m left behind, waiting for

the birds to return.

They’ve moved on. I now know that

being birdless doesn’t hurt.

- Victoria Chang