written by leander he
four little poems for things bigger than themselves
photographed by sarah feng
subjects: cleo guerrero, laura zeng
iv.
once, at a chinese market, i bought a massive tangerine.
it took two hands to hold. back home, i peel the whole and
give you half with oranged nails —
the larger one, always —
it takes two mouths to eat, too.
iii.
the city i used to live in still lives inside me:
encoding the price of fruit
in sidewalk cra
cks /
a list of birthdays in the light across the street /
when i go back, fresh asphalt has dried;
the bulb now flickers.
how did they smile when they said my name?
ii.
question: they say one’s veins, laid out, could circle the
earth twice. i wind it all up in one spool of thread, trailing
red behind me.
(bonus: which is more home?)
ever
am
i.
expand
ing
away
from
myself myskin mymory memory,
my___ my___ my_________________________________
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ ________________________ ______________ __________
sorry
mybody myopia myelin
