swifts  &  s l o w s · a quarterly of crisscrossings

spinning trellises before wet sun
Teline Tran

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Hurricane

This evening, I draw the hurricane inside out.
Hard water thickens my scalp, and
1971 plays a trick on the rain
Is it 1970 or 1971? One sounds a lot
more innocent.
I had run my hair under it, outside,
Scraping the sides of my bumper, hours earlier.
To look out the window is to
Sense tail-riding.
I have empathy for weakening storms
Storms that stalk the worst to mark their
allegiances
To play into a hurricane is not letting it
Wind, no, to play into a hurricane is
To overflow thy cup and declare no winners,
No survivors

Hot Dish

Since under, I had spoken one word a day
To a complement a meal, I would utter,
‘Breakfast,’ ‘Lunch,’ or ‘Dinner.’

To move from coming, I speak slighter
Worded widely that the cheeks bled,
Spinning trellises before wet sun

Despite warming my plate, I had caught a bug
One shell crinkled from the pressure
Two wings stretched until thin

There is a word for that now
Tied loose around a leash
3 feet and legal

In sleep, I ask questions
In wake, I complete sentences
Word up, I grew a plane field of vision

Now I know! A trick had swept me up
At the brim of its crest
Patient, I wait for worms

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Teline Trần is a writer from Orange, California or Gabrieleño/Tongva land. They write about home and interstitial faith via several mediums such as fiction, poetry, film, and ultimately the browser. Teline works as the Membership and Community Engagement Coordinator at Wendy’s Subway, a reading room, writing space, and independent publisher in Bushwick, Brooklyn and the Development Coordinator at Mekong NYC, a Southeast Asian grassroots organization in the Bronx. Their work appears in No, Dear Magazine, The Poetry Project, diaCRITICS, and MONO NO AWARE. Their first chapbook is Ad Học, published with Wendy’s Subway.