Five Pieces by Jessica Hu

Howl Back

“Arff!” “Woof, woof!”

“ARRFFFFFFF—”

—the dogs are

Awake, alive—

They bark at me

From their sodded pen

On the equally grass burdened earth,

I roll in the grass, gray limbs curled in—

They are

—not my kind

Yet—

As I cease to roll,

And the rumble of my instruments

Urge me to song forth their calls

The surging acid

Of my stomach corrodes

All other reasoning,

Seasoned in a curious obsession,

My forelegs curl, body rising, spreading to air like crooked steam,

My hinds stab the greenery below, My eyes fly even

—more excited than the sizzling molecules shrouded against my fur

In a moment, I am a body stretch in reach of the pen

I howl— “AWoOOooOOo....!”

The dogs

Push against the fence,

Roaring, barking— in a frenzy

“woofff” “woof”

I call back—

Again and and Again, A

—snout away from their cage

They make more sounds

“wooofff!” “Awoooo” But do not respond

We continue the exchange,

Them— their noises, and

I– my speech, and

My fangs

Above their snapping canines

And I howl—

Even when I

Turn around, and

pace back

Into my forest grounds

I tremble with an urgency, a confusion

—I want to respond

I howl back—

Till my ears drown in walls

I howl back—

Till my eyes shrivel gray

I howl back—

Till my hollow instruments pant no more

Even then I howl—

Waiting for them to howl back

—too

The After Howl

At the meadow:

The farmer opens her door, and the dogs whine to her in complaint

She brushes her hands gently over their hard-heads, as she does to her soft flowers

They calm— lulled by false songs

In the Wood 1:

A wild dog stands in my path

He barks,

Hello

Reflected in his glowing eyes, I myself, a prowling wolf slumped in disbelief

I see the relief of my surrendered form,

Know that not all dogs are caged, some are always free

Wild and Free does not need to howl for me to understand.

Reflected beyond his own eyes, there is hope, there is excitement, there is familiarity

In the Woods 2:

Free and Wild run through the woods

Two distant cousins

Far yet familiar

Two distant cousins

Blurring green and gray into one story

Addiction

Everyday my terrible moans

Quench the thirst of so many, to destruction I bade,

Left are my rotting flesh and yellow bones,

I slay myself under my one blade

Miserable, Do I cry,

in regret?

I lost my grip, I have blame of fall

Into endless stars and darkness, famine

I laugh at the beasts who find me to gnaw

Blame! I venge these makers of my ravine

Mockingly, Who’s thrall am I

in again?

Masses are vast,

Hunger craving till starving in enjoyment.

invisible under masks

of dizziness against weary disappointment

Regret, Can such of

be fathomable?

To my addictions, the stars and darkness, open jaws

My addictions burn my yellow intestines, holes and leak

As maw falls off, once again I am raw

Know my dooms, I am a shrunken freak

Twisted, Is this what they

call suicidal?

Two eyes flicker wide yellow

And like a monkey does admires the artful droll

my lips twist into a knowing smile, as I scroll

One more into the unknown.

Swishing Slimy, Wet-Brown Money

Poop in the dreams

Out in the open

Splattered over the planks

Turd turns green

Fresh, Brown then green

What a brown-green mess– turd turned

Like money money

MONEY

Trouble

Turd tastes slimy like mucus and fart

But Out in the open

Turds tastes like money

All the messy

Out in the open

Harmony again– prosperity flows

Like diarreah

Swishing wet brown shit

Ahhhhh….

Body– relieved

Poop in the dreams

Wet with prosperity.

Brown–green

Money splattered your way.

Ahhhhh…..

— i Finally pooped my money

(ode of poop and prosperity)

Claw Machine

Sometimes–

Life is like

Playing at the

Claw machine

You put

A dollar in

The claw goes down

It clenches—

The claw goes up

And when you look

In the chute–

It rewards you with

Anger and frustration—

And no money back

You put another dollar in

And then another,

Another and another

More and more—

Until you reach in your

Pocket and there is

nothing left.

Then—

All you can do is

Leave.

And hopefully

Not come back

Again

Because

Life, is like

Playing at

A claw machine

And sometimes,

The things that

You can’t get

Are best left behind

I am the fog

I find myself feeling drowned. My San Francisco is so gray today, like most days. I wish it

was even grayer, even darker. I want the fog to swirl up up in a haunting dream and search into

me, my wasted body to a world not mine.

How fragrant and tempting is the nightmare of constant fight. How grateful and glad I

shall be to find myself in a nightmare. A realization, I know myself, I am a somebody, another

somebody digging for escape from the Real. Barking to get drenched in honey nightmares,

sewer-flower-water-dreams. Wonderland.

But once the fog drowns me into the gray ocean glory, and my fantasies become my

Real, will I despair once again? Will I feel even more lonely in my drowned dream. The truth has

become the lie. The lie is the truth. I am no longer listening. I do not want to hear that Real

cannot be escaped.

I tell my mother, the honey nightmares I devour cannot fog me. And yet I am already

drowning in loneliness. Devour, I am gray.

I AM THE FOG.