Tankas for Our First Fall
in Mississippi
southern gothic walk
curbside hydrangeas,
dried but still standing, unpressed,
fade like wallpaper:
yellowed Victorian prints
peel off the doctor’s office.
at this time of year
if you kiss a dog
on the softest spot behind
her half-flop ears, smell
the cinnamon of pine cones
they sell at supermarkets.
changing of seasons
sweaters and jackets,
pullovers and cardigans
lounging like lions.
my mother used to call out
who left their turtle shell here?
known as beaver moon
last night I wanted
to shout, Look! Look at the moon,
a spooned olive yolk
to scoop into a photo,
keep as a gift to swallow.
for the holidays
clouds arranged like scutes:
a tortoise crawls the sky
west to east tonight.
they reset for tomorrow,
before our parents arrive.
Winshen Liu is from Illinois and her poems have appeared in BRINK, Cincinnati Review, Gordon Square Review, The Malahat Review, and The Rumpus, among others. She has been shortlisted for the Alpine Fellowship Poetry Prize and was a finalist for RHINO’s Founders’ Prize. Her new chapbook is titled Paper Money (Driftwood Press). You can follow her work at winshenliu.com.
Header photo by Crichton Photography, courtesy Shutterstock.
