lotus imploding in water
Ashley Wang
Hong Kong
The Lawrenceville School
Poetry
-- for great-grandma
naked foot stirs in the moonglow, its bareness blue in the
glaze of simmering plastic, walls that keep this concoction, born
of Chinese voodoo, from spilling into it all: silk sheets & lavender
& zitan rosewood frames & porcelain celestial
dragons that shatter in sun. baptized in an elixir of ginger
root and saffron, cartilage melts joints shift skin scratches
arches twist. bending mutating melding into pain-ridden
chains, toes fused against purple-bellied nailbeds, gutting
the pulp of rotten fragrance from peeling cuticles. muscle
unravels, epidermis stretches and wanes, as her bones yearn to reach
beyond knotted sinews bound so tight, it would take ivory
blades to carve their harsh ridges into surrender; to break
through would require an explosion, brittle
bone bursting, pearl shrapnel blossoming in ossein
fields. in silence, she pleads with a voice
sliced, stifled in smoke reeking of alkaline
ammonia, acid teeth biting through tongue. drops
of ginseng syllable are choked into esophagus, bloated
with earthy spit. fingers wrap around the cotton wires corseting
her feet, jaundiced by years of grime & weight &
buried truth. when the shaman’s talons lift to marinate her
shackles in lamb-pig-cow-human marrow, her mother’s words
burrow like silkworms in her ear: look, your lián huā jiǎo
are blooming. they’re your offering to Yuè Lǎo,
who will grow you an instrument to pluck
singing echoes and sweep men to their knees
in a dancing stupor. swelling lotuses claw
afloat in the swirling basin, innocent pink concealing
the crocodile leash lined with razors pressed to skin, because why
use chains when you can soak knives into a girl’s flesh, sculpt
her feet into hooves — buckling before she can
walk? in darkness, water is ink, a niagra of suspended
pentatonic rhythms, of poetry carved into cleaved
ambition. then again, with the wrought writhing
of her flesh, pregnant lotus thrashing in prayer
violet, it looks a bit more like blood.
EDITORIAL PRAISE
Feel your chest tighten and your limbs turn cold as "lotus imploding in water" slowly drags you into the ground. Each line is punctuated and perforated with sudden twists and turns that meld mythology and mutilation, but beneath the poetic rigor mortis lies a yearning for gentle reincarnation. Remember though, no one can hear you scream when you’re six feet under…
Ashley Wang is a sophomore at The Lawrenceville School in NJ. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Gigantic Sequins, Sine Theta, and more. She enjoys fencing and watching indie movies.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR