Vanessa Y. Niu



By the border the tunnels stopped
& fell, the tear of fabric forming zigzags

daughter nailed through at the tip like a bullet

the shine of leather, sweat of
          mottled brown backs

          Have a seat, you must be tired;
          


Finding the cheap couch at home that smelled like car sickness

A blind man’s hands in the foreign dirt, whispering home
skidding the age of Yunnan rice wine with a 

sugar pop

          Negotiate, you must be tired;
car sickness

& angular beauty seen through the rear-view window
          seconds before the light

          Introduce yourself, you must be tired;




Wartime wrapping pig-oiled weapons in leather
          It was our hunger. It was
          our hunger. It was our
          hunger

thrown over the rising sun, muffling the flame of dawn
          like a wet towel over a forest fire

The forest was your home before it was no man’s land
confetti’d with sugar pop wrappers from the last unit

who took farm girls with their cokes

          Does the leather cover her like the earth did?
Does the leather smell as much like Ma when
She broke bullets from her skin?




          Where are you?

Believe. It’s a privilege not to
          (i) become
          (i) hide

Smear of plaster that stuck to its frame, feeling
          My promise: I’m done with
their language & their men, dog whistle shrillness
& shoved like a badge on the tip of the tongue

Remind me of our soft syllables, sloped hips,
faces flowering
          flooding 



          The press of hide against skin, a
          crack of wood, sunlight
          sterilized & held & held to a frame

Executive Order 

 me
                    

The herd was your heart before they were your hell
pushing your river into mine
          merging at the mouth
          

Vanessa Y. Niu

Vanessa Y. Niu

Poetry

Fall 2024 - Land

Lot 20. Two Kennedy Administration Cabinet Room Chairs