POETRY: CHING-IN CHEN

JAILED TREE
​ 
in the water     before the eye
                                   
                                            said brother 

barbed wire tree                         mine of bone
                       
                               who flashed bland sea for bargain

can’t return a banished house or tiny mineral father

                                                             couldn’t lose a follow brother singing another wind tune 

           
grows out of trench                                   a trailing sea pried open grey city

                                            woman

                                                            smells like orphan and sweat                  a small muscle world

 
a kind of thick pouring                           chaining hush of voices circling up sky

"Jailed Tree" first published in R2: the Rice Review.

​BREATH FOR GUAN YIN
 
 
1. brought to pond        10,000 steps a hum                
                              each cascade of yellow tile supported by sturdy red
 
                                             one metal figure waiting on water       to quiet mind’s battle
 
 
          metallic rain horde means fill your bathtub cook all food no water in grocery store gas
  station line to empty                    crush of leftover white cardboard boxes floorlength we unpack lift
                                                                                                                                                                                       boxes higher
                                             no bathing no showering do we have an axe? a tight set of drawers in lungs
 
 
 
 
                                                                                                          slow a breath for ritual smoke
                         open late door and friend a shoe on busy rack
           
           enter already-breathing room              one hundred golden figures sitting in perch
                                                         each sewn seat in neat place
 
 
 
                  considering attic a man walks in front of watching window no shoes we could second
 
                                                             each foot slowly again again
 
                                           floor it                a message says to knock on airbnb door
 
2.        man or woman? man or woman? no other options at check-in                ladies or jocks?        
no time for questions  11 size sneakers          pair of grey shorts   woman’s blouse                   children’s
shoes what size? line of eagers at distribution line all-day Rice University students writing
orders  
                fill big blue bags            sort through assembly walkers toothbrushes      pillows blankets
a hot commodity special line form to right

                                       ‘don’t you Mister me!’ I see who wanted ladies’ shoes repeating request ‘I’m not a
Mister! I’m not a Mister!’ & no response before turning away from line toward a line of beds
                 
                  volunteer supervisor no time for questions         
                                                     I write on post-it note            please no assumptions please respect please
no time for questions      
 
                         
3. friend said ‘all the aunties chanting’ brought me green    
 
one sound four meanings                      I enter inflection meaning mother      not horse                                

                                                                          meaning guide sits sings                          lesson from diverging
                                                         mouth
 
chemical cloud ping pings a hot, rushing air                                             all bodies in yard humming in mind  
 
                                                                thick infection in head
 
                                        can’t say I broke much trying not to ingest 10,000 hurricane microbes       
              let go spider tendrils
 
4. at the lost and found   eyeglasses             a credit card                    note left at desk because no cell
phone
                                                                     woman in wheelchair checks in again about no cell phone          cold
boxed pizza        
                                                 white-haired unshaven’s waded through waters wants help calling FEMA            
                from Louisiana to Katrina lost bags maybe at last shelter lost daugher or son back in LA
we roll through shelter names and phone number I inhale smoke dial disembodied numbers to
receive
                                                                     heart knows
                                                                                   how to attach               sister    in empty seat  
                                                     how to cling worthy ache                     how to bring down rain         
 
        why chant dead grandmothers into room        animal set loose in chest                   only one a
believer and other a cook preparing food for hungry repentants
 
5.       when street drains is there pressure in street
                                   
            all notes escaping injure to try not
exhume breath from body      
 
                           walk away from dead night    throw arms to air
 
hoping for birds to land
 
 
 
 
"Breath for Guan Yin" first published in Spiral.

Ching-In Chen is author of The Heart's Traffic (Arktoi/Red Hen Press, 2009) and recombinant (Kelsey Street Press, 2017; winner of the 2018 Lambda Literary Award for Transgender Poetry) as well as the chapbooks how to make black paper sing (speCt! Books, 2019) and Kundiman for Kin :: Information Retrieval for Monsters (Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs, 2020 and a Finalist for the Leslie Scalapino Award). Chen is also the co-editor of The Revolution Starts at Home: Confronting Intimate Violence Within Activist Communities (South End Press, 2011; AK Press 2016) and Here Is a Pen: an Anthology of West Coast Kundiman Poets (Achiote Press, 2009). They have received fellowships from Kundiman, Lambda, Watering Hole, Can Serrat and Imagining America and are a part of Macondo and Voices of Our Nations Arts Foundation writing communities. A community organizer, they have worked in Asian American communities in San Francisco, Oakland, Riverside, Boston, Milwaukee and Houston.  www.chinginchen.com