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Thumb, Throat, Affidavit

By
August 14, 2007

 

At this point your credit score
will be helpful. Turn in your old train tickets
and walk the way you have always walked,
feet turned out, heels light as oars.
Request letters of reference from those
proper to you,
those who speak for you when you are held,
speechless. The grocer finds evidence you once
stole candy, and in doing so,

proves your existence,
young, unafraid of the law, desired. Another
remembers the treehouse that grows
silver with age, lumber turning back to forest.
Have you heard the phrase Lend me your hands?
Your parents, when they were still in love,
learned each other’s signature. Angle after loop,
teaching one another how to become another.

 

Tung-Hui Hu is the author of two collections of poetry: Mine (Ausable, 2007) and The Book of Motion (Georgia, 2003). He lives in San Francisco, where he writes on film and new media.

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