2 poems
Fire
It began with ghostprints upon the insides
of mountains. Warm clouds of pigment burst from the lips,
over the hands—five-tailed beacons.
*
The first proof of desire is the glow of carbon black and red ochre
against limestone, the earth crawling through its own skin
in a sinuous rhythm. Accelerating until it is unrecognizable
into a never-ending bright.
*
In thousands of years, some will break what is whole
in attempts to retain a semblance of shadow. Others will close their eyes
and wake from a fever dream.
*
They will reach for each other in the caves.
Like welcoming a lover into the room.
*
I hope you remember what is luminous in this new dark.
*
I hope you find me on the other side.
Blue Séance
My father’s shadow measures the shore’s rhythm until 3am,
lungs burning slowly beneath each pull of the fishing line.
Hands calloused, possessed by time’s weight.
I help him knot a lure’s silver wings as he bends
towards indigo, faithful to the art of vanishing.
I often dream about floods—another world’s ending
folded into sea brine. A cicada hovers beneath
the moonbeam path. This is how my father visits
from the other side: winged instrument,
writing runes on fish scales as coastlines drown.
Forever dissolving into dust before he can finish them.
Ghost-tatters drift skyward, I search for him
in the blue. So many trials to pass through the gates,
only to briefly shift the dark of earth’s exhale—or lift
from the palm trees as a whisper. In a dream,
my father places me onto his shoulders
and carries me toward the deep currents. I trace the outlines
of a sand dollar into the creases of his palms.
After death, there is an ocean.
Standing still, we count the waves.
Rachel Han is a poet and musician living in Jersey City. She received a BA in Political Science from the University of Florida before working in juvenile justice policy as a research fellow and consultant. She graduated with an MFA in Poetry from Rutgers University-Newark in May, where she teaches creative writing. Her work has appeared in Pleiades.