An Unsent Poem
By: Celine Choi I didn’t learn how I would have to hold myself tightly in empty rooms until her fear threw a peach, flesh and fruit bruising one another. But you invented a pain I had never survived before– it consumes. I didn’t learn how I would have to hold myself tightly in empty rooms until I viewed my mother as an art installation swinging by the wire. In the painting she’s a lone ranger with a smoking gun. Her regret blooms. I wrote letters to you after you cut me. You were bleeding too, I assumed. In my letters
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