National Poetry Month Day 2: Jenny Xie

ASYMMETRY

Everything’s slightly off.

Neurasthenic hours.

For months the firmest of acts refuse

to keep still, unspooling from me

at low frequencies.

It’s only when I scour the ground

nose slanted in the dirt

that I spot an open parenthesis.

I pluck it out with my teeth.

Careful not to undo

that knotted eye of beginnings.

Now I proceed through my days with caution.

Not knowing when this aside I live out will close.

BARE

A figure making its way to the temple, 3:42 AM:

bone in the wind’s throat.

The tongue cleans the bowl.

The forehead soaks up the wooden floor.

Shave off the metaphor until it’s lean,

until it’s purposeless.

Sediment of the day wiped clean.

Sitting still, pulling at the root of consciousness.

Then comes the needlepoint of language

which makes a thought visible.