BY donna tang
On the blade of the tongue,
between the laces of towers
and worn-in facades, what is
your name? The first sign
of a summer thunderstorm,
sirens in transit beyond
the reach of your dampened hair,
ancient waters returning to land.
You are home. Even a rusted pipe
becomes a symbol for life.
In your tempest-touched body,
the unexpected tenderness
of limbs outstretched slips
through hues of unspoken blue.
For even here, there is solitude.
In the arbitrary chatter of another
day’s end, inky perception
shades the expanses between:
not with void or abyss,
but the capacity for rain.
Donna Tang is a Việt American poet born in Massachusetts and based in Los Angeles, CA. They spend much of their time thinking and writing about bodies/water.