BLOOM

The phonetics of a white rose
trill, lost in sudden screenings of an interlude
downpour. May I interrupt: pigeons bronzed
at dinnertime flocking east, a dark bouquet.
Puddles bloom and wilt under my foot,
pockets of fish belly gray. Socks
droop in humidity, half-heart leaves
shapes of my body. (the pistil of jagged nails) Who strips
the petals and plants the stalk? Days as a stigma
catching pollens of words hurtle
in the spiral trajectory of seeds. May
I interrupt: white roses are budding.

BRIDGING

In the smoke-red tiles
cicadas undergo
hemimetabolism. Ink-lined wings rubbing
to the flatulent of tires. The sinking 
in the small hours of morning. Petals 
of coal in the train’s metal boxes.
It is punctual, the sound of “punctual,” like dragonflies
mating, their ommatea reflecting shards of pondlight.
Exposed epithelial tissue
of a brick
wall. What is this feeling?
You mean a 
dust particle in the eye—an autonomic
process of contraction. I squeeze 
my sockets and a bloom
of white sparks, a quick,
visceral flower I write
for the knowing of.

Ash Zeng is a poet from Shanghai, China who explores gender and immigrant identity in their poems and wishes to use poetry as their conduit of self expression. They are currently studying as a freshman in Emory University's English & Creative Writing Program. In their freetime, they like to listen to Yorushika and cook food from their hometown.