7 Mutations of Jon Chin

1. My bones remember yesterday.
They burn from their weakened state.
Each step is a memory aid
so this is a passive act in learning.
The skeleton does all the work;
it even self corrects, heals over
stronger where it’s done been cracked.
The tongue sculpts language
while the skull whispers to itself
protect, protect, protect.

2. I saw dad at the bottom
of every glass of milk.
Mom had misunderstood this
to be only a journey of height and width
as if the heart and brain
grew to fit their cages.

3. and God I miss my ex. The space
between her hips could fit
a universe atomic; to be
designed hollow like bird bones.
She told me once in our afterglow
that women’s veins were closer to the skin
and that all my girlfriends’ hands will be cold.

4. Isn’t this just sitting in ash,
praying for rain, waiting for the sun
again and again and again?
Who gives my cells their names,
my bones their staging?

5. Why do firetrucks run
in the rain? Won’t the clouds throw down
their whole weight and melt
that care away?

6. My arm fell asleep
and I woke terrified
by the absent feeling.
Shoulder, elbow, and wrist
formed a chain of evidence
which proved I more
than half existed.
Then the blood returned
first warm then blinding.
The pain of remembering.

7. This is to forget
and be forgotten.