Sharon Wang - Sick of longing, they took to the trees
by and published in Edition Twelve of Pomegranate
Sick of longing, they took to the trees.
They lit the branches. They wielded. They lingered.
They looked upon the grids they had
spread on, once, in that vast square, until
their bodies had made, in the
softening of the light, a roundness
that overtook the stones beneath them.
From such heights they saw
a cathedral by which a man pulled a leaf from
behind a woman’s ear, as she stood.
And when, with eyes only, they pressed her
against the shadows of those
sprawling arches, her form was made
lighter in the arches’ heaviness.
High up, they broke pears and felt
the flesh curve steeper than any shape
their hands could make, cupping
around it. Something yielded beneath the trees
and it was useful for them to say, “I am here. I am
beautiful and good. I am altogether what
I am, here, in the shifting branches.”
Sharon Wang
Sharon Wang is 21 years old and currently pursuing an MFA in poetry at Washington University in St. Louis.