moon / mom

She will last as long as stones, a tarp of water. Two frogs and four fish. Ashen shale, agro-industrial edge, the undead, those glassy forevers.

The ocean flat and still. The planet Mars. Chang-e on the other side of the moon. Those excavations / explorations. The old Chinese proverb. Oh, what a mess you’re making. Stratigraphy through the ages. Wash it down with a little stone. Half lives fitting. Earthenware. Where is it. This is not a Chinese + American poem; I suppose it accrues sediment. The house I grew up in is overgrown with ferns.

In one dream, a poem is made of vectors of wind. I am blowing over the Pacific, a bellyful of current. Leaning into an opacity that I love. I’m not sure where the poem resides. Whether empty, or electric. Fermenting and full of seeds (white). Unsure if stamina to carry on. Land on the darkside, anyway.

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from FOR LET EARTH–published by Tilted House. Buy it here.

(It also appeared, though, in She Will Last as Long as Stones–published by Wendy’s Subway. Buy that here.)

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kathy wu is an artist, poet, designer, educator, and translator working across language, computation, books, and textile. Their work pulls at fraught histories of science and technology. Their debut book, SHE WILL LAST AS LONG AS STONES (Wendy’s Subway Press) was the 2024 Passage Book Prize winner. They hold an MFA in Literary Arts from Brown University, and lives in Providence on Narragansett land.