brush
half transparent wash, a hot summer 
day in florida.
layered splashes, pools like shallow puddles under overcast fog.
melancholy skies, cumulonimbus rising
through another coating, leaving the page to dry.
light passing through stained glass, dripping
coffee through the filter.
ice cubes melting on the table an open cup, open
for you.
Photography: Haiku
> “Composition” Firm, align your gaze. Close your eyes and see true now. My photographer.
> “Shutter” Flash. Flickering life. Take the shot, fluttering eye. Here, the photograph.
> “Edit” Amplify vignette. Grayscale winter, a snowflake. My finishing touch.
> “Seeing in Color” Blue ribbon, best prize. I’m your Golden Ratio. Take another shot.
> “Memory”Alaskan brown bears. Apple Fries in Legoland. Death Valley sunrise.
this is how it feels to think of you anna
the boats on the harborann arbor sail away on wind drifta laborious deed but i believe you can and you will your will yes your will because you’re dead
so stay on the balcony an alcony alcor ursa an attic with too many stars too many bugs too many bees my knees with the beestoo loud to stop
the buzzing of the bees humming like you did but i keep forgetting you’re dead
stop humming
stop buzzing
quiet for one moment so i can think of the muzzling and the nuzzling of our dog on
the floor and he is heaving puffing air from his nose a great dane a dune sand blowing off peaks and packs of
great danes on
great dunes are running away and i'll say come back you but no you’re dead
don’tcome back back track come back
to me.
bird
quills of words sharp as shrapnel—
a wing against the page
as you pick your words carefully— like molting feathers anew
the ink flows from the sea—
freed from the human hand
tendrils rise to the talon
of the little bird flying away—
WHAT THE GRIEF BLEW IN
↬ HOLLOW NAUTILUS
With the wind comes the diluted dissonance,
disturbed depths
undulation of divided damage.
↬ WEAPON OF CHOICE
Fan-shaped leaves rippling
like ocean tides snailing
along. Daggers
spearing the sunbaked dirt like shooting
stars.
Bunting blows bashing out
your breath,
bleak borrasca.
Backfist punches breaking breaths from
the body.
It roars swaths of tightly twisting tops.
↬ WITCHING HOUR
Stars smeared
sight unclear
Secrets stolen
shining golden
↬ GASLAMP QUARTER
Streaking past humming orbs of light tucked into
the bitter evening and the moon.
Leaving the windows down.
The cold under you
grasping everything you have to offer.
Sitting there, whipped by the wind.
The gaslamp flickers.
↬ TRANSIT
Chimes. Chilly cabins. Concave cracks in the concrete. And crater-like caves.
Updraft patches of whistling air
in tiny hollow porous pockets. Breath,
balmy brightness, breeze. Tufts
of cotton candy.
How far will the wind take them?
About the Author: Shirley Xu is a current high school senior at The Bishop's School in La Jolla, California. She particularly enjoys writing poems and experimenting with form. In the summer of 2021 and 2022, she attended the Kenyon Young Writers Workshop. Shirley has also won Gold and Silver Keys from the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards.
