Alison Roh Park

For some time
I thought I might see myself,
my wounded bird, my gnarled
unmoving trunk, my reaching
in your gruesome face,
in your eyes not unlike mine.
I don’t want to play this game
anymore. We are already
the stuff of fantasies. We are
molded by the same white hands,
the same lava field, come to this place
from war, the same legacy
of comfort stations and camptowns
be it jungle or metropolis.
We are bound
by opposite ends of the same
taut rope, take turns
at the whoring.

Alison Roh Park
is a Kundiman fellow, Pushcart nominated poet, and recipient of of the PSA New York Chapbook Fellowship, Poets & Writers Magazine Amy Award and Jerome Foundation Travel and Study Grant. She teaches ethnic studies at Hunter College and is a founding member of The Good Times Collective of emerging poets writing in the tradition of Lucille Clifton.

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