Fake Monk

After Cui Jian

I want to be pure
            at all times. My mouth

a red dress, flailing
            in the wind. My mouth

an open prayer, full
            of salt & emptiness.

My mouth,
            unstitched. This is all

I demand. Mother, I want
            my bones to be sharpened

into song. So pure.
            Mother, I want

every apology to fall
            from my lips

like water. For there
            to be rain.

Do you remember
            the storms we caught

in our palms, crushed
            until bloodied,

until it was
            a fine red wine?

In the water, I saw her,
            your daughter. The lightning

caught her like a fish.
            An instant: the white

arrowed flesh, the ocean
& its hunger.  I promise,

I tried. I tried
to catch her

by the hair. I tried
to bring her back.

Enshia Li is a sophomore majoring in English Literature at Stanford University. She hails from Toronto and a few other places. Previously, her writing has been recognized by the Adroit Journal, the Claremont Review, and the Poetry Society of the UK.