what took so long
always another apple to be split
in two whole milk thickening
to spoil
the tomato soup spelling out
none of this matters
you will die alone
i want to be faithful
as morning hunger
today i’m learning
little violets sprouting
in the kitchen sink
and mold on the basement ceiling
are the same kind
of carelessness
the gas tank emptying
the radio says tomorrow
it’ll rain again
and someone’s child
is waiting to be found
at the bottom of the lake
i’ve been dulled by bad news
repetition and crushed melatonin
it’s windless and all the gulls
are fattening
on the hot sand the tides
are anxious and unsatisfied
the cloud won’t grey
that’s fine i want the surprise
oh these waves are pulling
in every wrong direction
there’s too much sadness
in the water
now there’s too much sand
in the water now
Jakob, I wish you were here.
it’s been two decades and I’m fine
without mine. At the core of my tasks
is avoidance: white pills, hell and ear
mites. I mean this in the way
that race horses never have to learn
their names only that the leather
whip means faster.
[
]
and all I know is this long sprint
to nowhere. I don’t mean
to set my grief free. I’m not asking
you to listen, just say anything.
Sean Cho A. is the author of “American Home" (Autumn House 2021) winner of the Autumn House Publishing chapbook contest. His work can be future found or ignored in Pleiades, The Penn Review, The Massachusetts Review, Nashville Review, among others. He is currently an MFA candidate at the University of California Irvine and the Associate Editor of THRUSH Poetry Journal. Find him @phlat_soda.