Time Jump
Listen to Chelsea Zhu read her poem:
Look at the way these clouds scatter after assembling, the way they assemble after scattering.
—Jin Yong
—Jin Yong
Last summer solstice, I find you sitting by the watermill, scratching
Xs on your mosquito bites. Golden bangles missing from your
Xs on your mosquito bites. Golden bangles missing from your
forearms—where everything seems to glitter. You tell me that grief
spilled inside the river nine minutes ago. A bird’s nest appears
spilled inside the river nine minutes ago. A bird’s nest appears
in my backpack, the eggs all gone. A pretty, pointy cavity from
Nirvana. The sticks thicken into antlers. I believe nothing comes back
Nirvana. The sticks thicken into antlers. I believe nothing comes back
