Roy Zhu

1.       Tight Diamond

My father hates tolls. As a child, his words broke hard on me.

These potholes are shit! We would often drive anxious circles

out of the way of those gates. Those tax-hungry vinegar-born

wretches—tell me what we pay for anyway! He knows roads

as his hand its creases— tattooed in the geography of his palm.

 

2.       Partial Cloverleaf

His palm fits the wheel of a Toyota. He has learned the wheel,

the battery, the crank. Each rippling neuron and tendon of car,

the belly of the beast. He is gifted. He is smiled upon, perhaps

when the car maintains a level head despite his weaving fits.

Just tell me where to go already, damn it! The car tries to obey.

 

3.       Turbine or Windmill

He mourns two countries, both stillborn to him. What do you

even know about me? I look at the atlas to help steady his path.

Slap your teachers. Wake them up! We are in a falling capsule

Shuddering in a burning dream. I imagine a child’s pinwheel,

the faith required to believe in the sound of spinning wind.

 

4.       Round Brocade

I ask him, why close yourself to family? He stares as if asked

to tell me a lie. When you are older you will understand when

to give up. I do not know this yet, but in California these exits

disturb him. We pass the turnout to Pasadena and my mother

clutches my hand. This is the country of many-broken knots.

 

5.       Auspicious (Pánchǎng)

We ask him to heal, but it doesn’t work like that. He doubles the

tension, pulls tight. Tug of war. Fuck the academics, fuck my

ex-wife. Better not to speak. My mother says just enjoy the view

of a place we might not return to. I look back to see us pass a fork

in the road. One path angles east, down an unwelcome valley.

 

6.       Cross Knot

The other is the road we travel. Clovers bloom in the mocking grass.

Don’t question me, if you talked less blah blah blah, we could get on

with it. We have lots and lots to see. To get on with, to simply accept.

A man may tremble at the wheel, but some things are simple, straight.

Unforgivable.


Roy Zhu is a junior Creative Writing and Environmental Science major who grew up in Greater Boston! His favorite poet at the moment is Rumi and lately he has been listening to Victoria Monét, Rico Nasty, and Kali Uchis.