Divergence
Pristine the ash no one has touched yet
before wind sweeps it along across the altar
dusting chrysanthemum and bees
before it is swept off again
the way the body burns
part by part
particle by particulate
particularly diverging
its tiny cinders
of moth wings.
After sound there is no sound
a wolf sanctuary
void of howling
headlights on the winding road
picking up snow
a tuft falling on the heron
as her wingtips dip into water.
Evolution:
bat wing
whale fin
my hand shielding myself from light
as I adjust
frames along the wall
barefoot on the black bookcase
the heat of my footprint
disappearing though no hand wipes it.
In taking inventory of what’s left
what the dead have cleared in space
a question
like the body of a boy
curled inside his dog’s bed
a boy filling his own rice bowl
until he doesn’t want to
anymore.
I want to be beside him in the dark
to hear his voice again
to stop seeing him on the street
in the back row
of a classroom where I teach.
Is there no end to this need
mushrooms inching along
blades of grass after a field of rain
the heron fishing
wings spread to lure prey into her shade.
In war they say We’re not the top species because we’re nice
In life I say Let me come closer
even if it kills me.
Copyright © 2019 by Diana Khoi Nguyen. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 31, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.
“In thinking about death as the ultimate divergence from the realm of the living, I found myself reflecting on how the ashes of my brother diverged from themselves, each other, himself—into the Pacific Ocean, a place along whose shores I often find myself. There, in the gift-detritus of the sea, I see parts of once-living and now-living things, as well as a bird flying low across the sound, so low it nearly merges with its reflection. Divergence, as sibling to convergence, how one structure exists but takes “a different direction” across species. How its function similarly diverges—the hand which wipes away a tear is also the hand which wields a hammer.”
—Diana Khoi Nguyen
Diana Khoi Nguyen
Diana Khoi Nguyen is the author of Ghost Of (Omnidawn, 2018), which was a finalist for the National Book Award in 2018. She lives in Denver, Colorado.