“Cycle” by John Yau
Cycle
The moon is soaked in red tea, its lips thrown away. The
beast, remnants of which still exist in another world, has
been greeting the empty lawn chairs of the hospital atrium
today. The two apparitions with him never say a word. It
is hard to rejoin your body when you have been gone that
long. Some part of you is waiting to be rearranged. If I had
a diary made of pages of glass, I could see my past candles
floating to the surface, the melting wax of my other selves,
liquids I splashed on the floor. I want to hug you and feel
you blowing your nose into my jacket, the one the beast
brought me as a special gift.
John Yau’s most recent publications include a book of poetry, Tell It Slant (Omnidawn, 2023) and a selection of essays, Please Wait by the Coatroom: Reconsiderations of Race and Identity in American Art (Black Sparrow Press, 2023). A book of his poems, Une Autre Façon D’Écrire Sur Le Sable (Joca Seria) (translated by Marc Chenetier), has been published in France (2024). He is the winner of the 2018 Jackson Prize in Poetry. He lives in Beacon, New York.