/dysthymia./dysphoria./diaspora./ By Erin Hanyu Lynch

/dysthymia./dysphoria./diaspora./

/Distal/middle/proximal./
/Metacarpal/carpal/ulna/radius/humerus./
I am made of sticks, of broken bits
of chalk on pavement, of
/bone/cartilage/tendon/muscle/skin/
///F///A///T///
Error. System failure.
Shutdown in
/4/3/2/

Flesh from flesh from
/tri/gly/cer/ide./
I dream Mā cups me
in her soft palm and runs
me under water—baptized
anew—and cleaves the skin
from my bone.
Anything, anything
so long as I am ripe and sweet
and beautifully
small again.

(秘密:The day I tried on those jeans
was the first day I cried in public. But
Mā, you waited outside the fitting room
and never even knew.)

/Patella/femur/pelvis./
/Sacrum/ilium/lumbar/sternum/clavicle./
I am stripes, am lines, am bars
cramming the mouth of a prison cell.
Behind my ribcage, I can feel
my hummingbird heartbeat.
But I cannot see my
/r/i/b/s/
through that thick white casing of
self-indulgence, of lazy
///F///A///T///
/Error/error/error/

Skin from skin from
/cel/lul/ite./
I hold swan-still
and graceful:
one leg swept up—
pillar, pole, paper.
I split myself new red lips
all down my right
thigh, new slender
bamboo strips.
This is not my body.
This is not my body.

By Erin Hanyu Lynch

Biography:

Erin Hanyu Lynch attends Hackley School in Tarrytown, NY. An alumna of Columbia University’s Advanced Workshop in Creative Writing, she has produced poetry that has appeared in their 2018 Summer Session I literary magazine, “Alphabet Soup.” She has also published three works of prose. When she isn’t writing or stressing about college applications, she can probably be found contemplating mortality with her three cats.

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