"American Lessons" by Shuang Ang
The following poem is a brief selection from our Fall/ Winter 2019 print issue, accompanied by an audio recording of the poet reading their work. Click here to purchase the full issue, which features poetry, fiction, nonfiction, and art by more than 30 brilliant contributors.
AMERICAN LESSONS
for starters, how to marinate
dead flesh. see also:
how to sweeten absence.
how to repeat yourself
until your tongue flips
in your mouth, a fish
belly-up against the fire.
fall as both verb & noun,
as what one leaf is doing
& also every tree, unraveling.
a lift as a bridge between
two points, where
none of them is sky.
say elevator. say sidewalk.
say water different than
your mother says it,
cradling the edges inside the bowl
of your mouth.
discover the difference between a body
pillow & a body, pillowed:
how one curls like a comma
between a wall & a spine.
say theater. say apartment.
say that metaphor of
alien as both movie poster
& self-portrait.
fall as both entrance & exit
wound.
Born and raised in Singapore, Shuang Ang is currently an MFA student at Sarah Lawrence College. She has been published by The Rumpus and the Asian American Writers’ Workshop, and her chapbook, Immigrant Ritual, was a runner-up in the Two Sylvias Press Chapbook Prize.
