{"id":2527,"date":"2014-04-22T23:56:14","date_gmt":"2014-04-22T23:56:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=2527"},"modified":"2014-04-23T02:42:02","modified_gmt":"2014-04-23T02:42:02","slug":"maw-shein-win-april-2014","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/maw-shein-win-april-2014\/","title":{"rendered":"Maw Shein Win, April 2014"},"content":{"rendered":"

Egg<\/strong><\/p>\n

I can\u2019t remember
\nif I read it in the bible
\nor in a cookbook
\nbut it all began
\nwith an egg.<\/p>\n

See. This egg cracks open
\nexposing baby towns.
\nIn one, lives Kim
\nwho is allergic to eggs
\nand children.
\nShe thinks about her future
\nwith a hard-boiled vision.<\/p>\n

My apartment is made of
\nshaky plaster and eggshell doors.
\nWhen I am mad, I drive
\nraw eggs into the carpet.<\/p>\n

Kim told me about a town
\nwith no eggs
\nand strong windows.
\nIt is a wonder that Kim and I
\nhave made it along so far
\nwith our scrambled wardrobes
\nand yolk hearts.<\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Allergic<\/strong><\/p>\n

The trees are barking at me
\nlike a pack of bloodthirsty hounds
\n& the sky is stalling, falling.
\nI am not right with nature.<\/p>\n

I feel like the half-cigar floating in the stream.
\nAn industrial noise band in Bali.
\nAn allergic reaction
\nFor which there is no cure.<\/p>\n

The gentle wildflowers try to reach out.
\nClose your eyes, relax. Here\u2019s your chance!
\nThe hills are even a deeper green
\nThan my student\u2019s contact lenses.<\/p>\n

But I look around nervously
\nFor an empty tent which equals: escape<\/p>\n

& begin to scratch away at my brown legs
\nlike a hound dog.<\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

‘<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Round<\/strong><\/p>\n

This is a world made
\nup of sanguine dogs
\n& vicious models.<\/p>\n

Misters and masters
\nmake pacts
\nover hard black tables.<\/p>\n

And the whole day flips around five o\u2019clock.<\/p>\n

The water is shrinking
\non the west side and in seven states,
\npeople have never seen daylight.<\/p>\n

Once a week I call my father and he hangs up.
\nThis is not a conceptual art piece, but it is because he doesn\u2019t know what to say.<\/p>\n

We love this person and hate that person and have pets and go out to dinner.<\/p>\n

But the world doesn\u2019t notice
\nbecause it\u2019s too busy
\nbeing round.<\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

shine<\/strong><\/p>\n

he crawls up the high hill on all fours. stops to admire the brilliantly colored snakes. at the foot of one boulder sits his ex-wife in deep meditation. he chooses to let her alone and crawls on by. the sharp rocks cut at his skin and the heated dust layers about him like a complicated situation. he sees phyllis, his fourteen-year-old daughter, waving an american flag. she’s wearing a dark gray dress and those shoes he’s always hated. the hill starts to shake. the tiny rocks and plants bounce off his hunched over frame. a bald eagle sweeps down and snatches off his toupee. bastard, he mutters, that one was guaranteed. he begins to question this action he has taken upon himself. crawling up this hill. curiously enough, his vision becomes clearer. he can see the red ants, brown spiders, and baby scorpions going on about their lives. he envies their focus, their tenacity. he tries to remember the original idea, the whole point of it all. he crawls up the hill for a long time. his bald head shines under a red sun.<\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

cave<\/strong><\/p>\n

up to that moment dark
\nin the nightclub dip
\ni prided myself
\non my rocky insides
\nthis heart all cave
\n(stalagmites and stalactites)
\nsometimes the sound of water
\ndropping
\nbut cooly hollow
\necho and retreat<\/p>\n

one night, i remember waking.
\na man next to me
\nhair, skin, reptilian,
\nand i did not know this place
\nthis room, this bed, this person
\nnext to me
\nnor myself<\/p>\n

the concrete things
\nthat signify safety
\ncoffee cup on counter
\na cotton shirt with blue buttons
\nmean nothing
\nanymore<\/p>\n

sometimes it is simply a
\nmatter of dipping
\nnot halfway,
\nbut all the way,
\ndown,
\nand allowing someone
\nto live<\/p>\n

in your cave.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 
\nMaw Shein Win\u2019s poetry has appeared in journals such as 2River, No Tell Motel, Big Bridge, the Fabulist, and Forklift, Ohio<\/em> and has work forthcoming in Zocalo Public Square<\/em> and the anthology CROSS-STROKES<\/em> (Otis Books\/Seismicity Editions). She is currently a poetry editor for Rivet: The Journal of Writing that Risks<\/em> for Red Bridge Press and was an AIR at the Headlands Center for the Arts. Win often collaborates with visual artists and musicians, and her latest poetry chapbook, Ruins of a glittering palace<\/em> was published by SPA\/Commonwealth Projects. She is also a member of the San Francisco Writers\u2019 Grotto and a recent recipient of the Arkadii Dragomoshchenko Prize for Innovative Poetry.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Some of these poems appeared in slightly different versions in her chapbook\u00a0Tales of a Lonely Meat Eater.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Egg I can\u2019t remember if I read it in the bible or in a cookbook but it all began with an egg. See. This egg cracks open exposing baby towns. In one, lives Kim who is allergic to eggs and children. She thinks about her future with a hard-boiled vision. My apartment is made of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2527","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nMaw Shein Win, April 2014 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/maw-shein-win-april-2014\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Maw Shein Win, April 2014 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Egg I can\u2019t remember if I read it in the bible or in a cookbook but it all began with an egg. See. This egg cracks open exposing baby towns. In one, lives Kim who is allergic to eggs and children. She thinks about her future with a hard-boiled vision. 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