Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2014  Vol. 13  No. 1
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back SALLY WEN MAO

Dirt-eating Poem

Dear stranger, deracinate me. Pull
my head out like a turnip and spare

me the instructions for piloting
ruinous spaces. Amphibious town

made of mica, in which the cascades
tumble predictably, in which seasons

resurrect the same stinkbugs, tulips,
bellyaches—the illness of mistaken

wishes has branded me an outsider.
Pardon me: I’ll find the way to make

hope scarce and live with the correct
privation. The kind that isn’t borrowed,

too cruel or kind. Clothed in tongueless
solicitude. Fit for eunuchs or ghosts.  


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