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.

 
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