Poem by Jane Wong

WHEN YOU DIED
 
 
 
                                              You can have it all:                                
 

dried cabbage butterfly;
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                                               clay to draw out                              
 
impurities; rice straw,
 
                                               how to roll it up                                 
 

in a ball to make bao,
 

                                               (can it hold); fresh locust
                       

if they come (call them
 

                                               to come, call them to                         
           

flutter in your ribs);
 

                                              termites along the gums,                    
 

an antennae for
 

                                              another day; double-cooked               
 

rice; decade-old ox bones
 

                                              dug up, crushed,                     
                       

and boiled. You can have
 

                                              this. The need to ingest
 

anything. Even the interior
                       

                                              redness of stars.
            

Jane Wong's poems can be found in anthologies and journals such as Best American Poetry 2015, Best New Poets 2012, Pleiades, American Poetry Review,  Third Coast, and others. A Kundiman fellow, she is the recipient of a Pushcart Prize and fellowships from the U.S. Fulbright Program, the Fine Arts  Work Center, Squaw Valley, and Bread Loaf. She is the author of the book Overpour (Action Books, 2016). Currently, she is an Assistant Professor at Western Washington University.
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