From the Neighborhood
Alisha YiPoetry / Number 99
The next-door dog is barking in early evening.
What is this gesture? I hide behind the bins
I’m putting out. I wish to stay in it. Not wanting to leave this
floating scene, the day is young, airy, light, the moon has
mounted for hours. And you, you have been sick a while.
The ceiling fan is broken. You have crossed out
all the passages, the spaces, lying in this bed.
Every week passes in its lower case.
Nothing wants to listen to anyone’s sympathies. But I’m
asking to enter here, see what resides inside gazing-out.
I’ll let the winds swallow my words—rough nails,
clipping in night. The sky always seems face-down.
Its whole page is overturned. How hard it is to answer
it, I look at you, & look at you, & wonder where you are.
Alisha Yi is from Las Vegas, Nevada. A 2018 U.S. Presidential Scholar in the Arts, her work appears in Slice Magazine, The Adroit Journal, wildness, and Cimarron Review, among others. She is the founder of the Hope Storytelling Project, and currently attends Harvard College.Image by Sinitta Leunen