It was very hard for me to choose just one of the powerfully mystifying poems from Jane Wong’s recently-published first book, OVERPOUR, so I urge you to explore more of her work if you can.

“Field Notes Toward War”

The war is not over.
The streets are lined with little lamps of snow,

melting. Water pours without end.
There is a swan bathing in my mouth.

I have made a mess of it all.
Cotton in my eyes, too much

cast on my arm. All around me,
the mountains hum

a broth of air. A little on the tongue
is enough to feed. My eyes rinsed out

make a river large enough
to carry that which diminishes. I’m afraid

I will never make it home.

*

My mother feeds more envelopes during night shift.
The deer shift in limb light.

In the morning, we rake the yard.
She falls…