When I was young I wanted to walk on
moon rock.
Silly boy there’s enough here for
all your lifetimes.
In 72’ we stopped shooting
bodies into the sky.
First, swim each ocean. Then, let the dead white
dandelion seeds twist into your hair.
On the television Men in suits bicker: the head coach benched
his quarterback. Now, there’s chatter of Mars.
While his father is a at work a boy
says Mommy for the first time.
Heroic is a man setting sail with
no sure map.
Where were you when nothing
was un-imaginable?
Every night for a year I laid next to
the same stranger. I asked her to hide
the corkscrew underneath her
tongue.
Look a drunken scholar delighting
in his theorems.
When the sun comes up
I’ll undress and become unrecognizable to
myself.
I will not leave this room
to watch the spring tulip bulbs
become themselves. Tell me how to
walk away.
See how you just joined this adventure.
Each rapture a silent photosynthesis.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 23, Issue 4.
Sean Cho A. is an MFA candidate at the University of California Irvine. His work can be ignored or future-found in Salt Hill, The Portland Review, Hobart, and elsewhere. He is a staff reader for Ploughshares. In the summer of 2019 he was a Mary K. Davis scholarship recipient for the Bear River Writing Conference. Sean’s manuscript Not Bilingual was a finalist for the Write Bloody Publishing Poetry Prize.
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