Lily Hoang




New Mexico poet, Lily Hoang, will be featured  on Saturday, July 11 at Hillendahl Neighborhood Library our  new Summer Series. Preview her poetry here.





The End of Something Great – I

(from Danielle Pafunda)


I break your face apart and find it is filled with fiberglass lawn darts. Your lips fall onto me: the hot coals burn my wrists. They simmer there until my bones are aircraft cables and I want to take you on a trip. I want you to look out the window. Your poprocks eyes spark against the pane. This is the beginning of our fracture.


The End of Something Great – VI

(from Tim Jones-Yelvington)

Each day, I wear sequins like scabs hot-glued to my skin. Below my encrustations, nothing heals. Bacteria fluoresces on my arms; cancer tremors my blood; you destroy me. The freckles on my shoulders turn into holes: deep, hollow shafts: my body is honeycombed. Take me into your sarcophagus and let us merry together. Even in Hades, writes Sappho, I am with you.



The End of Something Great – XXXIII

(from Lara Glenum)

Take off my skin and let it be hung. With you, I am only a poorly fitted mannequin. I trill your voice, overreach my body onto yours, I ovulate your skeleton and let your language open through my mouth. Without you, I starve and roseate, a mere fountain of electrodes.


The End of Something Great – XXXVI

(from Brandon Shimoda)

You pour tissue down my spinning heart and I let you. The centripetal force burns away my skin, but I ignore the hurt and place persimmons for you next to the bones in the sink. They are our old bones, drying out in the glass daylight. You gather my head of every matter dividing—sure, here you go, plug and drain all the sap out of me that you can, I will find you a vein—take this love out of me, this sudden break of reverie and ache. This is what I know: it is never the last time. I will see you again, I pray.