in addition to the grief
by Ginger Yifan Chen
in addition to the grief,
we are now in memoriam
of public places, of overheard
conversations, of strangers
discovered and lost,
in this non-space, this stasis,
we cuddle with dust bunnies &
stare at faces two-dimensional,
blurry, & soft,
it is now the noon-dark of a sun
shining over constant rooftop,
it is now nighttime, it is now dawn,
our star had crossed
the sky silently, in socks &
on tiptoes, and we can't
hear her because our
clocks don't work anymore.
i have journeyed through the whitewashed
catacombs of this house & found three new treasures:
a notch in the doorframe that marks 5'3" in 2012
a collection of magazines yellowed by the decade
an altoids tin with my baby teeth rattling inside
i have been banned from washing the dishes after
my mother and i yelled about where the
sponge should go
i have worn a hole in the carpet from too much
pacing and yet i have not paced enough.
i have not touched pavement in three weeks.
i do not step outside because
my mother is afraid of more than the
black mold in the sink
i do not step outside because
people lie frozen & stacked like bricks that
may lay a foundation
i do not step outside because
i will have to step back in again
i dream about a bus ride that never ends
i dream about a glass-shattering break-in
i dream about a snowstorm in alaska
i do not dream about flying
in addition to the cabin fever,
the anxiety, the hatred,
in addition to the stories and
and their translations
in addition to compassion,
and the love,
in addition to the grief,
we are now in memoriam
of so many things.
Ginger Yifan Chen is a Shanghai-born writer, filmmaker, and poet. She has been published in Calliope Art & Literature Magazine and the Underground Zine. She recently graduated from Chapman University with a BA in Screenwriting, and currently resides in San Francisco.
