2 Poems

Stella Wong





feeder, masked, butter, black.
a solitary hunter


in limited territory.
the steely-eyed elevator door cries


and the steel-nerved radiator leaks radiator
fluid. and sometimes piss,


as a barred hamlet would,
or a greater soapfish.







I bite you some coaster rings linked like the olympics from a blued out Ensō to candied lemon rind purpled with warp time, bite you a watch more sturdy than diving with the mark of my beast retained in a noble bezel rim, bite you an bloodied arm band of sinewy eggplant. ugly, your father chews out you, and you, him.




STELLA WONG is the author of Stem, forthcoming from Princeton University Press, Spooks, winner of the Saturnalia Books Editors Prize, and American Zero, selected for the Two Sylvias Press Chapbook Prize by Danez Smith. A graduate of Harvard and the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, Wong’s poems have appeared in Poetry, Colorado Review, Lana Turner, Bennington Review, Denver Quarterly, Prairie Schooner, and more.


The art that appears alongside this piece is by AMY RENEE WEBB.