Christine Kwon
At My Job I Master Emptying Out
In the cereal aisle
I tape a tiny price
on everything.
The sign says do not open.
I look up but
leave the moon alone.
The magnolia petals
transform to women
when they fall.
When the woman returns
holding bunches of flowers
in crinkling armfuls
I leave her alone.
When I see a cat
on the side of the road
open as a valentine
I think it is for me.
God, is it?
Manning the check-out line,
oranges and limes
cold jewels,
full of restless rippling
my life
a fragrant pink bowl,
I ask the woman
if she is
throwing a party.
Waking from
deep blankness,
it is I
who should apologize.
When someone sees me
really sees me
ice flecks,
I fall ruining.
Flotsam and Fluorescent Splendor
I watch the weeds pop up
After spending days weeding
I could spend my life like this
Thank You Come Again
A father-daughter business
The art of doing nothing
Our slogan
‘Like you I am gentle
I cannot make a mark on life’
Our awning
Green. The color of
Grass, a Russian tearoom, a child’s
Oval paint, a sweater frank o’hara
Would wear, the opposite of raspberry,
Moss—
Like a purple shaded spot
Beneath a tree
Neither dead or alive
This is how I think of you
Thank you for calling
Christine Kwon is the 2022 winner of the Cowles Poetry Book Prize. Her first collection of poems, A Ribbon the Most Perfect Blue, is forthcoming from Southeast Missouri State University Press in spring 2023. She lives in New Orleans. You can find her on insta @theschooloflonging or christinekwonwrites.com.