By Sung Yim
his shrug is a battering ram.
his father said, "you’re probably queer."
i decide to make soup tomorrow.
his father said, "you’re too skinny
like a girl. stupid."
his father said,
"you’re gonna die alone."
so i plan a picnic for the weekend
suggest a movie the week after &
ask, "when are you taking me fishing?"
but Sunday, as the hangover’s
nip winds into gnaw
he asks what good he does me.
the question sounds like a slamming door
& i can’t quite explain how
sometimes God wakes up
in a phantom limb.
Sung Yim is a 5th year undergrad and poetry editor for the 2014 issue of Columbia College Chicago's Story Week Reader. Her far-reaching hubris has been rejected by publications such as PANK, Rattle, and The Paris Review. In her spare time, she likes to hug dogs.