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Green Fields
I was supposed to
return to the fields daily.
I haven’t been there
since birth. On some nights, I smell
smoke that I think is
the field, but when I follow
it, there is just a
clothesline with half my life clipped
on it, drying in the sun.
Strawberries
Mother brought a spray
bottle to pick strawberries.
She made us spray them
before eating. I never
cared that hundreds of
red eyes watched me as I took
my first bite. They all
knew that the war had begun,
that June began the killing.
My Other Dark
I imagine my
life as a Chinese Empress,
proud of my face, eyes.
Even the moon has black hair,
mountaintops of Chinese snow.
In this life, I am nothing.
Turning
My mother is dead.
The lemons still turn yellow,
the trout still stare emptily,
desire is still free.
We still love many people,
eat peaches as if kissing.
When the War is Over
I once saw the deer.
They were all wearing blue scarves.
We have finally finished
killing everything.
We are now looking ahead,
but have killed past the future.
Snowfall
We say the snow falls,
but the snow really seizes.
Because it is light,
it takes seven years to grab.
By the time it does,
the old wars are over and
my mother is dead.
But it lands on the new wars,
melts on another mother.
In the Open
The weather is wet,
the weather doesn’t have joints.
How the snow just becomes rain,
what is that change called?
Trees witness everything, why
do they always look away?
Lives of the Artists
I brush my hair and
wonder if you are watching.
I write a word and
attach it to a speaker—
someone please listen.
Words come out of my coffin,
made of maple. When
empty, it will return to
the trees who speak to no one.
The Lovers
There is a wildfire
starving on top of a lake.
See how the water holds fire,
but cannot end it?
Why do we insist on love,
when all we want is mercy.
I was supposed to
return to the fields daily.
I haven’t been there
since birth. On some nights, I smell
smoke that I think is
the field, but when I follow
it, there is just a
clothesline with half my life clipped
on it, drying in the sun.
Strawberries
Mother brought a spray
bottle to pick strawberries.
She made us spray them
before eating. I never
cared that hundreds of
red eyes watched me as I took
my first bite. They all
knew that the war had begun,
that June began the killing.
My Other Dark
I imagine my
life as a Chinese Empress,
proud of my face, eyes.
Even the moon has black hair,
mountaintops of Chinese snow.
In this life, I am nothing.
Turning
My mother is dead.
The lemons still turn yellow,
the trout still stare emptily,
desire is still free.
We still love many people,
eat peaches as if kissing.
When the War is Over
I once saw the deer.
They were all wearing blue scarves.
We have finally finished
killing everything.
We are now looking ahead,
but have killed past the future.
Snowfall
We say the snow falls,
but the snow really seizes.
Because it is light,
it takes seven years to grab.
By the time it does,
the old wars are over and
my mother is dead.
But it lands on the new wars,
melts on another mother.
In the Open
The weather is wet,
the weather doesn’t have joints.
How the snow just becomes rain,
what is that change called?
Trees witness everything, why
do they always look away?
Lives of the Artists
I brush my hair and
wonder if you are watching.
I write a word and
attach it to a speaker—
someone please listen.
Words come out of my coffin,
made of maple. When
empty, it will return to
the trees who speak to no one.
The Lovers
There is a wildfire
starving on top of a lake.
See how the water holds fire,
but cannot end it?
Why do we insist on love,
when all we want is mercy.
62 Reviews
4.0
saaral
Created 25 days agoShare
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“the trees witness everything is a quiet, reflective work that captures grief and time. it is profound and brilliant.”
Kendra Parker
Created 29 days agoShare
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oscarwildin_
Created about 1 month agoShare
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Khadija Mohideen
Created 4 months agoShare
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Shauna
Created 5 months agoShare
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About Victoria Chang
Born in Detroit, Michigan to Taiwanese immigrants, Victoria Chang was educated at the University of Michigan, Harvard University, and Stanford Business School and holds an MFA in poetry from Warren Wilson. She is the author of six books of poetry, including Obit, which was named a "New York Times 100 Notable Books of 2020" and included on Time Magazine's "100 Must-Read Books of 2020." She lives in Southern California with her family and serves as the Program Chair of Antioch’s Low-Residency MFA Program.
Other books by Victoria Chang
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