Image of Mai Hoang

WHITE by Mai Hoang

falling from the sky at dawn, it is white.
Snow White –
present from the heavens to his chosen people
towards year’s end. Hallelujah! This
holly flower will blossom & embrace
the barren earth, the singed sinned soil of
human toil. How much does it take to
rebirth the world? Not much.

Just flakes of bone-chilling jaw-shivering
crispy
whiteness,
lighter than felt.

Overnight, it bleaches the sidewalks colorless
& forms heavy clumps
latching, choking, crushing
moss (microbiomic greengrass),

cruel like elve-witches. Ymirs
slink under pillows
into dreams.

So you stare as I dance in the dawn,
ice in my tongue.
But

I envy you people, to whom
White
is a reality, as fixed as the deep blue wells of your soul-windows
& the latent crimson spots that surface
when you are too uncomfortably fazed
by UV rays.

But if I linger long enough, tell me, O my
darling
if White
would become my reality, too.

 

Mai Hoang is a rising sophomore at Phillips Exeter, where she serves as writing associate for Pendulum, an annual arts and literature publication. She originally hails from Saigon, Vietnam. Her works have been published or are upcoming in TeenInk and The Clairemont Review, among others. She has been recognized by
the Scholastic Writing Awards, Laura Thomas Communications and the Lamont Young Poets’ Prize. She participated as a mentee in the Adroit Journal’s 2017 Poetry Mentorship Program.