Suspension poetry by Sammie Kim
My father bites into a hard-boiled egg, ripping yolk from white he speaks, choppy and unpracticed: You won’t know what’s coming until it hits you. Your vulnerability is like blood in the water. Find strength in a caged bird, he says, plasticine, parakeet cheeks pink. The bird may beg for an open door, but remember, only you know that sleet cuts and sunshine burns. My feet swing toward a crate, hooks snag words in my throat, scratching my voice into a non-answer. As we sit equally unequal, I remind myself no cage is a champion of Istus— we rest above the darkness and below the stars.
