Stacey Tran

we’ve peeled off the sin and now, this core
left over from valises unpacked
beige, grey, and open—

our attempt at emptiness       a void
to be filled again

but look, now this muck of us, our souls
and what they once contained—

evidence of our doing favours
to the wretched creatures
reciting our skins—

follies and foes with freckles
in between eyes and limbs

the lines we drew to stir sense from stars
making our map by hand
connecting the cosmos

light year by square light year
seeking out pit-stops for redemption, or attempts

and still, the resin of the muses straining—
beating their wings upon our insides
long after we’ve set their vanities

the lust that loomed—
a swarm of gnats
and now this

my bones—
oleanders hanging from clothespins

my dangling ruins at your fingertips
escaping the fury
of fire—

our burning up against each other
to unveil the fullness
of falling

Stacey Tran lives in Portland, OR. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Anemone Sidecar, elimae, Word Riot, and others.

“There is a house I’d like to live in and it has two porches. It does exist. I’ve been there. It also has a remarkable staircase to top.”