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 harbor
ann
arbor sail away on wind drift
a
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 bees
too 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.