Poetry by Nancy R. Yang
Sometimes when I fret I see
sugar chalk on malted chocolate, in dreams,
hidden prizes in grass, bunnies and bibles,
long altar calls: Lord, I come
over and over my young stomach rumbles
while Mom holds the red-covered hymnal
down so I see, so I sing along:
watermelon, watermelon, deviled eggs,
ham still untouched, the centerpiece,
still-to-come pleasantries, more prayers
from the table’s head—Dad or the pastor
Mom invited in his tan coat, pale pink tie,
I’ll hold my brother’s hand,
close my eyes, look focused: Please
make this fast, I’m so hungry, I’ll be good.
I’ll fill up, ask to be excused and vanish
down to Indian Creek and hum to myself,
stay a long time, staring at the running water
over the brown rocks, like a vein through the body
of the earth in its own worship, flowing
all the way to far—as far away as a lifetime—
to the sea.
Nancy R. Yang is an educator and MFA candidate in creative writing at Pacific University. A long-time transplant to California, she grew up in Georgia and South Carolina, where her love of art was formed. Her poems have appeared in Poetry South, Willows Wept Review, and Aura Literary Arts Review, among others.