Oh gosh, time for three stunners by Michael Sun:

“this is her bibimbap /

she has two languages to say I love you / “

“That summer, I was rejected in every white man’s journal, / and I felt bad for my poems, my children, / when I couldn’t build them a home.”

Here is the dream. Here is the truth. Let’s sashay and come out on top, into this must-read by Shira Haus.

Dear, the book pried the water with a door stop
petitions were offered to the blackened swell.
Whittled spirits and last bones rabbets wind…

You were a combustible thing. This overcast morning I ascend the site of a volcanic vent, where the neighborhood crows roost atop cinder cones….

“This math has a vivid history. Fractals
become fractions in the alchemy of race”

“m i n o t a u r h o o f

b u l k h o r n e d a n d

b e n t o n d e s t r u c t i o n”

“I bury my hatred in the graveyard

I water my hatred with vinegar

I fertilize my hatred with salt”

“And as the foam bubbles up in its foam agony

The sea’s gallop is here again, a naked symphony”

from Diary Poems

“I want to be the kind of woman who comes off with the

wipe of a hand—foundation streaking from a good night’s show,”