Abigail Pak

      Fawn

 

 

As the fawn moves, I move;

on hanji, split knife gliding

 

We lie down. Curl in closer,

our shared breath a chest

 

This is how silence dies,

pigeon tongue.

 

:              red

 

carmine brushstrokes

through pale skin.

 

the legs of a dying insect,

cavity filled with kindling.

 

a blossom held on clay

The firing squad aims.

                                                   I:              Rothko wanted to paint emotion

                                                                                     Fawn:              red over red over red

                                                   I:              he was looking for light

                                                                                     Fawn:              the salt is the gun

I close my eyes.

Our legs brush

The fawn curves into me.

and the bullet makes us one.

Abigail Pak is a queer, Korean-American writer born and raised in Southern California. She is currently in the M.F.A. program at the University of California, Riverside. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, a McCormack Writing Center Scholar, and a dabbler in bird enthusiasm. When not writing, she loves to spend time with family and friends, her little white dog Maggie, and her partner.