angry poetry corner: "summer magic" by michelle lee

We're getting poetic up here. It's time for another installment of Angry Poetry Corner, a regular weekly spotlight on the work of API poets -- not necessarily angry -- curated by Cara, our Angry Asian Intern.

Because you could use a little more poetry in your life.

In the corner this week, a poem by Michelle Lee:

"Summer Magic"

The night train hums hard as I drift past the glass—

Reconstruct my summer universe:

To when I could carve out the moon with my thumb,
with nothing but blackness behind me.

To the fields where my body sweltered in the heat,
and an arm sweep would ring whispers from the grass.

Remind me of the days I would pass under the eves of the temple,

A hundred yellow and black monarch butterflies
dozing along the overhang.

Transport me to nights I sat sideways on my cousin’s bicycle,
as we flew down bare streets,

and he told me his dreams in a language I no longer remember.
Michelle Lee is originally from NYC and recently graduated from Wellesley College. She works with brains in a lab somewhere in the city. In her spare time, Michelle likes to write, cook, and, of course, be angry. Holla at michelle.es.lee@gmail.com!

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