Guilt in Limbo, 5354 by Michelle Zhang

In ways of dissuasion and discontent, “Bleached hair,” pitched Dad, “forms dissonance” From those before— they’re memories Refrained, lost through broken psalms’ defense . ”

But turn I may with weeping disarray Aside my dazed mirror, I comb, I comb— Spurn the ill-placed photo: Grandpa clasped once by fire. Obscure the end, this I dream: to rest! to roam .

Though gone, I play his last sustained breath: Must I comb my hair with this iron lyre to efface the heirloom remnant pains? These fallen strands I’ll blanch and dye .

Here I’ll pick and I’ll pluck, hoping I’ll plead the tune of death to life Sweeping past loss, I’d separate Yet grief resolves none of this strife .

art | Davis Kurepa-Peers

GUILT IN

My father’s words– though fake– I institute To lose my grief I’d compromise my tribute Still I find no salvation through forward steps. My psyche burns; I still looked back.

LIMBO, 5354 by Michelle Zhang fh 21