then, I want the dead returned, by the song that played them off & if the punk anthem that fuels an Arkansas mosh pit undulating sound & blood/ moist with liquor-sweat is the swan song of a south/midwest that is losing its only Wal-Mart tomorrow & all the punk youth of the town are here, crashing their warm branches against one another so that the lights are turning this raucous organism into a kaleidoscope & nobody can quite tell what the screaming vocalist is saying but they all know what…
Category: Poetry
Anglerfish
I. Emigrating, my father imagined falling into the Pacific. How long will the waters hold me; how long before my bones become rain? he must have asked. Father, these were the wrong questions. Instead: what will feed on my flesh? What might live by the fall – everything that swims beneath us. Picture the fuselage a wheat stalk for the starving seas and your thin body: salvation for a world, unseen. II. A boy who looked like me once asked why I wrote so many race poems. I lied and…
A_____ A_________
A____ A______ written by Tommy Chaisuesomboon ______ Welcome, one and all, to the first meeting of AA. Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves. I’ll start. My name is Tommy Chaisuesomboon and I’m an Asian American. See, my problem began when I was born because Buddha decided to create me in his image: Asian. He didn’t take into account, though, that I wouldn’t actually be in Asia, but instead, put me in the womb of some woman who for some reason, saw America as a land of opportunity.…
asian art
after “black art” by Amiri Baraka english is bullshit/ unless tongued/ by a boat child/ come from the womb of some/ napalm land set ablaze/ he later calls a continent/ decolonization is bullshit/ unless there are no more rusty land mines/ to blow up the boat child’s cousin/ on the other side/ of the pacific/ i want a community of/ fuck your model minority/ type chinks/ i want a community of/ drown tom cruise in the village pond/ type samurai/ i want a community of/ anarchist math professors/ refugees holding…
Questions for Jim Crow from the Curious Asian
Where do I sit on the bus? If there is a white man in my seat, do I wait for the next bus? Am I colored if I am darker than the brown paper bag? If I have a half-black child, will you hold your tongue before them because you know not which slur to use? If I am in love with a white man, will I be the only hell-bound one? If you baptize my son in your church today, will he be welcome in your school tomorrow? If…
“Asians Do Poetry Too!” Vol. 3
Have you ever told your mother that you didn’t want to do something and she said something along the lines of “in ten years you will thank me”? For me, that thing I didn’t want to do was henna. Ten years ago, before henna became oh so trendy and inspired western fashionistas to get in touch with their ~creative~ side, it was something my mother used to decorate my little hands to celebrate Eid-ul-Fitr (Muslim holiday following the Holy bluehost fasting month, Ramadan). I’d walk into class showing off all my…
“Asians Do Poetry Too!” Vol. 2
Part 2 of the ExpectAsian Poetry series, I’m bringing you some Asian flames in the cold white winter of Poetry Land. Thanks to Evan for kicking off the series, but I’m here to add some more fire. The piece below is titled “My Mother’s Accent” and it discusses assimilation and anti-Asian sentiments. What inspired me to write this poem is a small conversation I overheard at Walmart. My mother: Excuse me, vair is the milk? Employee 1: Oh it’s just right over there ma’am. *My mother walks away and when…
“Asians Do Poetry Too!” Vol. 1
I think there’s an unfortunate assumption among younger Americans that poetry is from and for old, dead, white men when, in fact, poetry has such a rich history. With that in mind, I want to kick off an ExpectAsian series titled “Asians Do Poetry Too!”, where I upload recordings of my reading both my own poetry and the works of great Asian American poets. This first one is an original piece titled “Sleeping Dog”. I’ve included the text of the poem along with a photo of the Ozarks, where I…