Hoa Nguyen


Poem for Heather

O you would hate this
wouldn’t you
you like my Pisces son
(your sign)            angling
his face away              face
stuck in a neck-shoulder fold
            possibly wandering away
making a joke about boogers
a violet up his nose

Look at the spring
It is April            I’m gassy
and ice shelves shatter

We are busy writing our scratchy scratch
with bus exhaust        

            What would you make
of me              my life settled
after dramatic proclamation of “no settling”

Why this April beauty
when families die in Hawaii

Why this random dog barking

I still love            I love you            you
who will forever be
34            tall             and a mother

Fear of not meeting grandchildren

Sand in the house
Sandbox sand in my house



Hoa Nguyen was born in Vinh Long, near Saigon, raised in the Washington D.C. area and studied poetry at New College in San Francisco, California. She lives in Austin, Texas where she co-edits Skanky Possum, a book imprint and journal, with her husband Dale Smith, and curates a monthly reading series. Her books include Your Ancient See Through (subpress collective) and Red Juice (Effing Press). Her second full-length collection is forthcoming from Hot Whiskey Press in November 2007. "Poem for Heather" appeared previously in the collection For the Time Being (Bootstrap Productions).