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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.

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