by Isabel Yang
spidered crabapples line
where some other thing is web-etched lids of gauze,
cupid’s bow could notch
a new jaw, drenched full in
then lust then forgiveness then
chilled, summer sheets the
young hips collide,
under cotton hitched to
prairie-salted hair
despite scorn for
cruising
musty corners of the yard
you have turned
the fauna-hollows
in season fruit,
ripe then rotten,
sour juice dribbled down
burnt chins felt
yearning
new skin of an old girl
summer freckled
the sun kiss of
memory
ISABEL YANG is a queer writer who lives and writes in and around Edmonton on Treaty 6 territory. Born in Wuhan, China, they immigrated to Canada as a young child. At present, Isabel is completing a Bachelor of Arts at the University of Alberta. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in publications such as Room, Plenitude, Poetry is Dead, and Glass Buffalo. They can be found tweeting online @sblyang.
Diptych of Summers Past can be found in Augur Magazine Issue 3.1.
