Juiliana Chang

Juiliana Chang is currently a student studying at an international school in Taipei, Taiwan. She read her first poem at the age of six and the world hasn't stopped spinning since. She has big dreams of being a poet-neuroscientist, but awfully small hands. When she isn't writing weddings for people who don't exist, she likes to spend her time learning ancient history, walking her dog Momo, and eating cold fries.

 

Four Poems (October, 2014. Issue 47.)

she, thunderstorm

the first time you watched thunder
she grabbed you by the wrists
and split you like a walnut

years later you still find her bobby pins
behind the mattress.
when you think no one is looking
you hold them up like lightning rods
searching
trying to stitch back together the verges
she had long since
taken away

falling in love during a typhoon

We are watching the storm, and you tell me
you’re having a good time. The rain is sliding
down the window and I think about what it would be like
to fall asleep to the sound of you brushing your teeth.
You are not lightning. You are granite and ellipse
and the first time I saw you I wanted to press sunlight into your cheeks.

It’s rumbling outside now, and your smile starts to falter.
You’re nervous.
I want you to know that I am too.
Someday I’ll tell my grandchildren about getting lost
in your galaxies and all the ways I learned your fire.

When my fingers find yours, I grasp.
Yeah, me too.

the garden

if he tells you that
you
are the apple
of his eye,
nod.
thank him.
let him hold your hand.

do not look away
from the cider stains
on his lips.

Polaris

I.
the first time I made you laugh
I could hear the smile
ricochet around your chest
it was hollow, like tapping on watermelon rind.
made me want to sink sunlight into you.

II.
people wait a long time to bloom the way we did;
there were nights
I saw you so clearly,
I can still recite the scripture from your lips

III.
(yes, even after all this implosion)

IV.
who knew it would be your bleeding heart
that left puddles and stains
all over my hands—two years later
and I still draw constellations in my sleep

V.
you always kissed me like you were searching
for the signature of angels
like someone buried your grace under my tongue
like if you grasped it, it could stop that ache
between your ribs.

VI.

it was silly of me to think
I could fix you;
I’m sorry for that.
I know you only ever burned
when I was bleeding, but please understand
that I never minded
all that ash.

The Legendary