On going and leaving, again
I spent an entire summer out of a suitcase
between temporary walls and nine hour sheets
I lived out of boxes
I ate out of paper.
In searing September I was twenty
and packing to leave again
all the butchered cuts of me
splayed out on the floor.
To pick and to choose
what would be left on a hanger
or taken on my shoulders:
empty mascara bottles
dog-eared books
men’s t-shirts and three
tendrils of basil
fragile,
spared from knives
when they began to root.
Although I know these were fleeting
the corpses of my life there in decay
at least I had the next place
to dream about
another bed
to sleep in
one more chance
to die
and to leave
something
behind.
Diana Bai Fu is a daughter of immigrants and a queer Chinese American poet born and raised in unceded Ohlone territory (San Francisco Bay Area, CA). Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and can be found or is forthcoming in ANMLY, Foglifter Magazine, Honey Literary, KALW 91.7, Bronx Narratives, Bronx Memoir Project, and more. Her writing has been supported by Kenyon Review, Tin House, Bread Loaf, and Kearny Street Workshop. She has been the recipient of various scholarships and fellowships for her writing, including the Duet Fellowship with eco-theater group Superhero Clubhouse, a Bread Loaf Katharine Bakeless Nason Participant Scholarship, and a Leonard A. Slade, Jr. Poetry Fellowship for Writers of Color.
