SHEILA DONG

swan as a verb

your apartment walls
are so thin, they might
as well not be there.
 
so we sit in the epicenter
of our young years and listen
to tango music, to fighting
 
couples, to rowdy freshmen
getting drunk and falling
down the stairs. you say, our pain
 
will follow us to the next life
–  
there will be swans, yes, but
they will ravage their roosts
 
and howl in the night
like tremendous kettles.
i don’t doubt it. i have a scar
 
from a swan, raised and opaline.
at a theme park, we run
wild, ride boats round and pale
 
like motorized moons. you say,
i have a scar from the moon.
you say, our joy will follow us
 
to the next life
. i read a haiku
consisting of a single word.
in the morning, i’ll tell you what it is.

Sheila Dong lives in Tucson, AZ. Their writing has previously appeared in Open Minds Quarterly, Old Pal, Arcturus, Moonsick Magazine, and other places. Moon Crumbs is their first chapbook, published in 2019 with Bottlecap Press.