~Sappy Daze~ Day 10

May is Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month

Ching Chang Chong

Ching-ching is the sound of a 
cash register: the sound of money.
It’s the sound of an American 
dream achieved by a Chink.
But the Chink named Chang 
dreamed a pipe dream of fame 
only to pave a track to gold 
not meant for oriental freaks, 
because they were 虫, insects, 
and an invasive species from 
the Pacific named the yellow 
peril and came in terrifying
rising tides that never grew weak.

- Sappy

Capturing Campus: April

The River Man
at the riverside
I saw arches of rocks
which told the water where to flow
about the pattern, I asked the girl beside me
she said a river man picked up heavy stones, guiding the water downstream
she asked, and he answered with tired eyes
“leaving a mark before I go”

Wolverine Stew: Moon Over Michigan

I know it isn’t full yet

Missing that faint yellow glow

That let’s you see the craters and

Haunted wonder at its silent ascent

But this has been eight months

In the making, a note from the first

Evening spent walking out from a

New room where I could watch the stars

And you never know quite when the clouds,

When the cold, will return, so now

I stretch my arms out and let the

Waxing moon shine down on me

Trace the Big Dipper I can find in that

Space the lamps don’t quite reach

Think of those last few scenes of

Dragons, monochrome zombies, and laughter

60s celebrations and musical mockeries of Apollo

At two theatres I remember

Through stored ticket stubs

And see how the marquee and the moon

Mix together tonight

aSoSS 24 | Snooze

[referring to how late she woke up] I can only have one bad day so I have to be on top of it today.

Well, I’m young and stupid, so I’ve got more time to waste.

BMV, 6:30PM, 2/28/2024

two voices, mine and yours.

and why should i? you’re chasing your dreams while i’m chasing my tail, spinning in circles, dizzy from embarrassment. too proud to look you in the eye. it was always a game, wasn’t it? get off the playground. swing and miss, face-up, the sky salting the wound with its mosaic of stars–

my alarm rings. every morning i notice how there is only one voice, how it only speaks when spoken to. i don’t know who wins; i never do. if a thought had a mouth, would it scream?

I need melatonin to sleep. If I don’t take melatonin, I get nightmares.

Mosher-Jordan Dining Hall, 6:30PM, 3/29/2024

i am greeted by the clothes deforming like plastic in the sun, an uncanny valley of furniture molded around the faces, your face, no face at all. i unbutton my shirt and count eight scars splayed across my chest, as if a creature had climbed the ladder of my ribcage from the inside and latched on to my heart. i feel the irregular beats now, a warning that my pulse does not pump alone. i make my breakfast in silence and look at the window. i see a single spider sitting in its fractured web, watching. waiting.

I’ve made so many mistakes since having him… he’s five months old and doesn’t like to sleep, which means I don’t get to sleep either.

AADL Downtown, 12:00PM, 4/20/2024

it seems humans are born with the innate sense of death. sometimes i equate the resistance to sleep as the resistance to death and i wonder whether a child would make the connection as well. we cannot recast reality in our sleep; we cannot extract truth from our visions. our dreams lie with the size of a single breath. perhaps death pays a visit every night and pulls against the thread of the universe. pick a card, pick a side, pick your brain. the dice clatter against the floor, but when i open my eyes there is nothing there. we are all alone in the night, sleeping among the silence and the spiderwebs.

Wolverine Stew: First/Last Thawing

As the days go on, I can see

Carpenter bees and painted ladies

Fly from one pale blossom to the next

As a chorus of frogs sound in the

Marshes I’m just now beginning to

Wander through

Seeking those new paths from

Picking a direction and wondering

How far I can go with a friend or two

Tulip sunsets blooming from patchwork city soil

And curated reminders of maize and blue

And I’ll go through graveyards and theatres, cafes and Kerrytown

One more arboretum trail, one more crafted carnival, one more night

Walking the same loop, tracking constellations in those

Spaces between lamps, singing together after the stage lights go dark,

Rolling dice and trying out new names

Enjoying that welcome that was always there

With the ones who gave it

Trying to take it in as the clouds start to clear

And it will hurt to miss it all

But that means there’s something worth missing

And I’m glad I get to celebrate it in the sun

Because I know both will be back soon enough