Erica Hom
2022 C.D. WRIGHT POETRY PRIZE WINNER
Migrant Worker Love Letter
Bronx, New York City, 2005: A Chinese-food delivery man from Fujian became trapped in an apartment building elevator. He banged on the door and screamed, but he didn’t speak English. All he could say was “No good! No good!” Even after 81 hours, the security guards insisted they did not hear him.
Lǎo pó 老婆,
i miss you. have the bellflowers blossomed yet? magnolia blooms late again
i carved your name between the buttons deaf and dead i slept beside you again
America has a saying life has ups and downs. i imagine the dark ocean waves
that carried me to where I wrote my first letter from the other side of a distant
shore
from the uprooted edge of a floating mattress heavy with seawater no good.
twenty five days at sea head filled with dreams golden mountains
trees glinting with gemstones i found only water dark
deep water water migrating crashing against the hull of the weary boat
seawater swallowed each word each letter always wanting more
until all i had left in my pocket was a memory of us under the sun
my thumb caressing the freckle just below your eye
i wasn’t afraid of the dark until I slept inside a coffin with no one to hear
the bell’s lonely toll i burned my poetry to keep my hands warm no
good
if i get out i’ll show you the other side of me
a body that’s never been robbed at knifepoint for a twenty dollar tip
a saying it’s funny how much of our lives we spend trapped in boxes
houses kitchens cubicles subways city grids coffins mousetraps
borders etched in mud and sand where anything can sound like a psalm
any word by any tongue chimes like a prayer
when my feet reach the sand i will collect my bones send them back to you
in a box padded by my deferred dreams
can any god hear me? did god draw these borders?
no good no good no good no good
what else can I tell you? i learned to worship the moon the one who pulls
the strings of the tide the movement
of thousands of starving eyes guided by distant starlight
my ear resting on cold metal
i hear your heartbeat the sound of my knock at the door
coming home.
Erica Hom is an emerging poet, artist and educator living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her poetry has been featured by Honey Literary, Voices from the Attic, Rhodora Magazine, Crow and Cross Keys, 50 Haikus and elsewhere. She is a poetry reader for Sepia Journal and a recipient of the 2022 Oakland Business Improvement District’s Sidewalk Poetry Prize. She is currently working on her debut poetry book, as well as a chapbook inspired by Philippine mythology.