in January, I was a girl
not a city
streetless and star remote
friends whistle me up
in my wolf cap
saw me and my ceiling
for rescue
I whittle down my cheekbones
we joyride
flash and cried I couldn’t
be a boy that heard the news
the next daylight
lay swollen
nameless feet march up
demand my name
be crunched in each mouth
remorseful bite
full of fist
From recombinant (Kelsey Street Press, 2017) by Ching-In Chen. Copyright © 2017 Ching-In Chen. Reprinted by permission of the author.