1.
You pick one pre-made excuse,
A hollow little lie crafted with the careful fingers
Of detox teas and runway models,
So you can push away the plate in front of you, offer it up
Like a tribute to an ancient god.
Swallow your words as your body cries out
That one taste is not enough. Can’t you
See your temple crumbling into ruins?

Pretend you do not know what hunger is, as if
It does not crouch on your shoulder, growling in your ear,
Clawing at your stomach, gnawing on your bones.
Smile, even though we both know all
You’ve eaten today
Is four pieces of celery,
Three bites of a granola bar,
Two sticks of gum,
One apple,
And your daily dose of self-loathing.

2.
Under buzzing fluorescent lights,
Your warped reflection dances in the mirror,
Twisting the sharp lines of your limbs, tallying
Each imperfection. But I see
A galaxy, painted in shades of gold and brown.
The burning sun glimmers in your hair, kissing
Your body with constellations of freckles. In your eyes
Seethes the endless rage of the ocean. The curve of your hip
Boasts the unknowable strength of heroes; like Atlas
Holding the weight of the world in shaking hands, you were
Sculpted from ivory but baptised in a hurricane.

3.
These words catch in my throat, tangle around my tongue,
So I will say them in the only way I know,
Scrawled in ink across the canvas of the sky.
Look for my stuttering in the spaces
Between the stars, hold them tight until your soul aches raw with
The truth: Perhaps you are not perfect, but
My dear, you have always been enough.

Borzutzky embraces the complexities of modern love and modern poetry, crafting a poem that is winding and bordering on confusing in its lack of continuity. The non-linear structure and absence of names forms a speaker who is absent except in love. The reader is left unable to parse out the characters, questioning which “she” is being described– are they all the same woman, or does each have her own distinct relationship to the speaker? The ambiguity and lack of linear timeline allows for an exploration of love in all of its forms. Love in relation to sexuality is separated between “gay teenage boys [who] want monogamy” and “heterosexual boys [who] prefer ‘friends with benefits'” (lines 9-12). Borzutzky also incorporates small moments of other types of love: familial love in “I love you, she said, as she smacked her child’s head” and platonic love in the friends who “meet in a café to discuss mutual funds and stock options” (lines 49, 58-59).

In his exploration of romantic love, Borzutzky investigates the dating norms of the modern world. In the anecdote of the date who “thought [he] was trying to stick her with the bill,” the gendered expectations of dating are challenged (lines 30-31). The subversion of this causes a discomfort between the two individuals, until the date realizes that he is “unaware of dating etiquette” and is “charmed” by his apparent inexperience (lines 32-33). Throughout the first section, the poem has been arranged in stanzas of two lines, each of which ends in enjambment, flowing seamlessly into the next stanza. While the reading may be seamless, the shape of the poem on the page is fragmented, reflecting the non-linear structure and the complex, broken depiction of love within the poem. However, at the point which the speaker breaks the unspoken dating norms, the shape of the poem suddenly changes from the abrupt stanzas into a quatrain. The second section does not follow a pattern of line numbers, but the stanzas are longer and contain a mix of enjambed and endstopped lines, providing a steadier understanding of love.

Tsui provides a contrast to the unsteady nature of love in Borzutzky’s poetry. Her poem is constructed from quatrains, liberally using punctuation but omitting capitalization throughout the entirety of the poem. Where Borzutzky embraces the confusing aspects of love, Tsui demonstrates a certainty in the nature of love, declaring “mother, i’m gay, mother i’m gay and so happy with her” (lines 29-30). The lack of capitalization and the spaces stretching between the stanzas mirror the relationship between the poet and her mother– there is an unreachable gap between them as her mother “will not listen” and “shakes her head,” denying the reality of her daughter’s love.

The conflict between familial love and romantic love is a heavy presence within the poem. Tsui challenges the non-recognition of her romantic relationship as legitimate through the use of the quatrains. Where “the vast majority of Tsui’s other poems follow a free-verse format,” here she conforms her love into the traditional poetic standards (American Women’s Poetry 99). Through this, she demands her relationship be acknowledged as “social convention,” refusing to accept that her love is “not invited” into her family since she is “neither [her] husband nor [her] wife” (line 44, American Women’s Poetry 99). While the majority of the poem handles this conflict, the final three lines diverge in subject matter, describing her “[dreams] of dragons and water” and her home as “in her arms, [their] bedroom ceiling the wide open sky” (lines 50-52). This description takes their relationship as a love that is quietly intimate and opens it to the world, defying the norms which demand their silence.

The Ecstasy of Capitulation— Daniel Borzutzky

I.
One reason to eat is to not speak, said the man
with a mouth full of food. When she told me that my

silence was worse than her silence, I agreed,
even though she was wrong. It is shallow to fight

for things, he said, but sometimes it can be fun. You
look like a tunnel, she said, and kissed my lips. What

I like least about words is their capacity
to invoke more words, she said, as she trashed my

poem. According to the New York Times, gay
teenage boys want monogamy while

heterosexual boys prefer “friends with
benefits.” My psychiatrist told me it was

okay to lie about the important details
of my life. As a result, I fell in love with

her. I stopped seeing her as a patient but when
we dated the spark was gone. If, as Cioran writes,

existing is plagiarism, then what is death?
I was lost all night in the forest only to

discover these were streets I knew quite well. In the
Oresteia, Apollo argues that the true

parent is “he who mounts.” Because the Furies fail
to ask what happens when the woman is on top,

they lose the case. In evaluations, a
student wrote: “Daniel would be a better teacher

if he wasn’t such an asshole.” Weren’t such an
asshole, I wanted to tell her, though as her

comments were supposed to be anonymous, I
could not admit that I recognized her

handwriting. On a first date, I innocently
went to the bathroom when the check arrived. She thought

I was trying to stick her with the bill but when
she realized I was unaware of dating

etiquette she was charmed. We had a nice kiss
goodnight, but afterwards I was so flustered I
went to a bar by myself, drank whiskey, and smoked
my first cigarette in years.

II.
Throughout my life I have always wanted to tell the truth,
even though I knew it was all a lie. In the end all that matters
is the truth content of a lie.
—Thomas Bernhard, Gathering Evidence

Before I met Lisa in person, says Jerry,
a user of an online dating service, I
really enjoyed the wit and flirtatiousness of
her emails. But on our first date she was stiff as
a board. I wasn’t attracted to her, though I
slept with her anyway, just in case I might like it.
And I did. I liked it so much, that now we’re
getting married.

I love you, she said, as she smacked her child’s head.

I love you for your holes, she said,
not just the holes in your shoes and socks, but the
gaping holes in your personality.

When she asked me if I was uncomfortable,
I told her I wasn’t.
I really was uncomfortable.
What I neglected to say
was that I enjoy being uncomfortable.

Two old friends meet in a café to discuss
mutual funds and stock options. Thus begins a
story that ends with one man slicing off the
other’s neck, and stuffing his mouth with love poems
to Young Werther.

Life is too short to be genuine,
he said, as he stared into her deep
brown eyes. It was the most genuine thing
he’s said all day

A Chinese Banquet— Kitty Tsui

for the one who was not invited

it was not a very formal affair but
all the women over twelve
wore long gowns and a corsage,
except for me.

it was not a very formal affair, just
the family getting together,
poa poa, kuw fu without kuw mow*
(her excuse this year is a headache).

aunts and uncles and cousins,
the grandson who is a dentist,
the one who drives a mercedes benz,
sitting down for shark’s fin soup.

they talk about buying a house and
taking a two week vacation in Beijing.
i suck on shrimp and squab,
dreaming of the cloudscape in your eyes.

my mother, her voice beaded with sarcasm:
you’re twenty six and not getting younger.
it’s about time you got a decent job.
she no longer asks when i’m getting married.

you’re twenty six and not getting younger.
what are you doing with your life?
you’ve got to make a living.
why don’t you study computer programming?

she no longer asks when I’m getting married.
one day, wanting desperately to
bridge the boundaries that separate us,
wanting desperately to touch her,

tell her: mother, i’m gay,
mother i’m gay and so happy with her.
but she will not listen,
she shakes her head.

she sits across from me,
emotions invading her face.
her eyes are wet but
she will not let tears fall.

mother, I say,
you love a man.
i love a woman.
it is not what she wants to hear.

aunts and uncles and cousins,
very much a family affair.
but you are not invited,
being neither my husband nor my wife.

aunts and uncles and cousins
eating longevity noodles
fragrant with ham inquire:
sold that old car of yours yet?

i want to tell them: my back is healing,
i dream of dragons and water.
my home is in her arms,
our bedroom ceiling the wide open sky.