SUMMER 2001

 





Stepehn Stepanchev

A BUBBLE

Like Oedipus,
I killed my father on the road.
The car skidded in the rain
And hit a locust tree. No doctor was near.
A star saw it and looked away.
It was the color of a wild flower.
A bachelor's blue, on a hill.
It turned the water on.
It was a shock to see him laid back
At the wake.
Like a sea, beyond all anger.
Decked out in black silk. My mother,
Who is an American, ate store-bought
Cupcakes. I ate apple strudel
Made by my Chinese aunt and drank oolong tea.

Later, on a cruise,
A bubble, a small burst
Of conscience, bloomed in the salt sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
   

 

 

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