STILL PORTRAIT OF SUBURBAN LANDSCAPE

N. Y. Ling
after Franny Choi

Physicality. Liminal spaces between each streetlight. Or crooked
mailbox. Domesticated dogs make for strange neighbors. Slick my back
with hazard paint, the haste of it. Let’s speed this up. Gravel kicks my
underbelly—all these Toyotas. That boy in basketball shorts. We’ve
kissed before. Don’t remember where. Everything is clearly drawn.
Creases & corners. I want a scribble. Something sharp, that will cut
through these hedges & hoarded homes. This doesn’t mean
destruction—let me show you. I walk & walk & walk. See the wooded
paths, silent predators snaking through the smog? None of them lead
me home.

//

&
I am so dirty-minded. Not in the traditional sense. I wish for dirt to
seep in the sockets of my eyes: Marinate & mother me skinless. I dream
of not seeing anything. My neighbors are partying. Solo cups sway on
the driveway. Suburban discotheque. In the garden, I ripen & uproot
myself. A few summers & I promise I’m still here
What’s the true price of living? Or surviving? The same Toyota
side-eyes me. I imagine hopping in—why hello, Trevor—& hitting the
gas citybound landscape tilting I am—

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N. Y. Ling is a Chinese American poet whose pieces often weave motifs of girlhood, heritage, and growing pains between each line. A 2023 YoungArts Finalist in Poetry and winner of the 2023 Patricia Grodd Poetry Prize, she has been recognized by the National Student Poets Program, Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, and Best of the Net, among others.

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