by Red Cedar Review | Mar 20, 2021 | Poetry56, Volume 56
Issue 56 home says go back to where you came from Heidi Wong as a child, i would not let my country hold me. thought i was too jagged for her red arms, thought she could never kiss my two toned edges. on my eighteenth birthday, i run to a new home. and home...
by Red Cedar Review | Mar 19, 2021 | Poetry56, Volume 56
Issue 56 2020 Heidi Wong you lose seeing the snow melt one last time. lose your corner room in the gray cement building, lose friends, lose childhood, lose new york, lose him. you witness distance spreading beyond distance. you learn distance...
by Red Cedar Review | Mar 18, 2021 | Poetry56, Volume 56
Issue 56 clinton, from here Heidi Wong your scent appears in ribbons, invading my space like the shape of a stranger i could have known. the waves of victoria harbor, its hysteric crashing, its hopeless rhythm, contort into a chorus of footsteps aching...
by Red Cedar Review | Mar 17, 2021 | Poetry56, Volume 56
Issue 56 to be asian, now Heidi Wong written during the COVID-19 pandemic how godly, to be asian, now, and love yourself. a covenant of history, a scripture to our goldblood. to be asian, now, is to be the sun shining, also, shining, still, on those who both...
by Red Cedar Review | Mar 16, 2021 | Poetry56, Volume 56
Issue 56 the starving dog; or, in which an anonymous user says “good riddance” to the international student trying to return home during a global pandemic Heidi Wong watching him lick his bowl clean as i bite my tail off for food. believing him when...
by Red Cedar Review | Mar 15, 2021 | Poetry56, Volume 56
Issue 56 Lessons and Directions for the Child of an Alcoholic Parent Allison Fox Get a sturdy lock box. This is where you will hide the bulk of household pills, count them, while reminding him for the fifth time of the day, count them, that he needs to take...
