CHRISTINE SHAN SHAN HOU
Some Facts About Myself
After the physical therapist said that the pain is mostly in my head
my arm has been hurting less.
That is the power men have on my psyche.
I learned how to throw a cocktail party for strangers from
my mother and my grandmother.
At night I grind lifesavers with my teeth and then spit them out into the sky.
Scrape up the mess of stars and black stuff and place it in a vial for analysis.
Blue mouthguard paired with blue roll of tape on bedside table
The color blue is a stand-in for me and all the options I could be at this
exact moment in time.
Secretly, I just wanted to hear Jules say the word crudités.
I wish I were an alternative singer-songwriter that could carry a tune.
I wish I knew how to fall in love with a doctor.
My favorite type of man is a Midwestern dreamboat with a five o'clock shadow.
My favorite song is a love song written by Swedish people who have
never fallen in love.
Fable
There was a neighborhood
that was scared of bears
They hid their children in
cars and closets
guarded them with brooms
and knives
One man who knew no such fear
befriended the bears
At lunchtime the bears
would gather around and
eat out of his hands
After dinner they would
sleep next to him
in sleeping sacks
The thing is
Not everyone is afraid to die
or wear the same outfit twice
I wear an old brown
bathing suit on Monday, Tuesday,
and Wednesday.
The elastic in the straps
makes a snapping sound
as I tie it around my neck
and watch my neighbors
move their cars back
and forth
I see them at the store
buying varieties of milk
I catch them looking at
their reflections in
storefront windows
gleaming
I spy on them at night
from behind dazzling blue curtains
On Fridays They Go Dancing
dead women arrive
on demand along a highway
south of Los Angeles
where factory workers
pull from the interior of
a city a less identifiable form
say a crystal
that gets rubbed
around the eyes
for the purpose of
expanding peripheral vision
by one hundred percent
dropping hard candy
into a birdbath
that has accumulated water
over the years
losing all its flavor & purpose
a reminder
to think things through
their most extreme
consequences
knowing that the responsibility
of your body is
yours & yours
alone & the desire
to be handsome while wearing
a three-piece suit
outweighs grievances carried
over in a silver suitcase
from past lives
a voyage into another timeline
reveals a laissez-faire
system of points
where collective madness
makes itself felt
in killings
inside the factories
that run along the highway
south of Los Angeles
Not a New Theory of Evolution
A repository is crammed with stuffed monkeys and ivory carvings,
snow leopard coats and dried seal penises, chairs with tails and
lamps with hooves.
The natural process of selection shows that those desperate
to appear easygoing never were.
Making one uninformed decision can leave you dead.
Protection is not so much a right, inasmuch ideology dictated
by a tall figure at the head of the table.
When feeding into a new sentiment, there is no accounting for taste.
The human appetite for other species cannot be satiated.
You can either devote your resources to reversing past wrongs
or prevent new ones from happening.
You can choose to feel shame for the materials that you own
and the women you leave in the past.
There is something spiritual about your vanity and laziness
that is thrilling to witness.
Choose dutifully, horse.
You who are made of hunger and prey.
Christine Shan Shan Hou is a poet and visual artist living in Brooklyn, NY. Publications include Community Garden for Lonely Girls (Gramma Poetry 2017), "I'm Sunlight" (The Song Cave 2016), C O N C R E T E S O U N D (2011) a collaborative artists' book with artist Audra Wolowiec, and Accumulations (Publication Studio 2010). Additional poems and/or artwork recently appear in Foundry Journal, No, Dear Magazine, Powder Keg Magazine, and Poetry Society of America, amongst others.