Jennifer Huang

Night Fractals

for Liz

You visited last night

The clouds reflected every dream

Pushed high 

 

The sky didn’t dim

The moon didn’t rise

And you looked fine

 

First night the cicadas didn't chirp

Since I don't remember when

And it was fine; it was fine

 

When I started to bleed

I didn't notice and when you started to rain

I stood to watch the droplets

 

Fall and fall refracting

Only under street lamps

And I stayed until I was coated

 

With a fine felted layer of you

Your voice a melody

Cutting through

 

The sky softly

Swiftly skipping

Across the pour

Spell to Bring Me Back

Lemon between lips.

Rose balm over my ribs.

 

One cup space. Two cups

 

let it go. Legs kiss a crescent

moon and arms crown the snow.

Disembodiment

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Jennifer Huang is a writer and teacher with a visual arts background. The daughter of Taiwanese immigrants, she lives in Ann Arbor, MI, where she is pursuing her MFA in Poetry at the University of Michigan. She dreams of one day moving closer to the sea. You can find out more at www.huangjennifer.com