Susan L. Lin
What Happens Behind Boarded Windows
happens because the weather man says
it will be a very wet, very windy night.
Before nightfall, we nail wooden planks
over our eyes. There is so much we hope
we will never have to see.
In my dream, summer comes early.
The waves at the beach are quiet, as I was always
told to be. They smell of my father’s aftershave.
And the light on the water? Like a grid of stars.
Under overturned buckets, I find
a small piece of theater, my own private play.
I cast the moon as a villain who strips
the ocean of its natural color.
A secret: I have blue eyes that darken
in my father’s charcoal drawings.
The water crawls up to my ankles,
then retreats: curtains parting.
If we can’t see what’s outside, we might examine more closely what is inside.
If we can’t see what’s inside, we might already be dead.
On the water, a young girl folds tomorrow’s
newspaper into a paper ship and wears it as a hat,
hoping to keep herself afloat. Her picture already
printed on the front. Beloved Daughter.
Until We Meet Again, the text below it reads.
This poem originally appeared in Poet Lore, Fall 2010.
good morning, moons
a father puts his children to bed.
“good night, loves,” he says
before turning out the lamplight
to reveal the moons’ steady gaze.
at daybreak his children wake early
and hide unseen behind the drapes.
“good morning, loves,” he says
to the titter of windowpanes.
beyond them, even the sky
has forgotten the moons:
their glowing faces overshadowed
by brighter objects.
This poem originally appeared in Holding Patterns: A Collection of Words on Ritual (Good Printed Things, April 2023)
Dear Venus,
I believe you need a new publicist to represent you across the Solar System because I see a lot of untapped potential in you.
Examples:
When Earthlings say something is “brighter than the sun,” what they really mean is that it’s brighter than you.
When Earthlings say something is “hotter than hell,” what they really mean is that it’s hotter than you.
When Earthlings say someone is “thicker than a bowl of oatmeal,” what they really mean is that they’re thicker than your atmosphere.
You see what I’m getting at?
Lean into your extremes. Make them talk about you.
The sad truth is that no one out there knows enough of the facts to begin making these connections, but I want to help you change that. Why should everyone and everything else get all the glory?
Call my office during business hours, and we can discuss my rates and an initial plan of attack. The number is printed on my card, which I have included in this packet for your convenience. I look forward to a fruitful partnership!
Susan L. Lin is a Taiwanese American storyteller who hails from southeast Texas and holds an MFA in Writing from California College of the Arts. Her novella Goodbye to the Ocean won the 2022 Etchings Press novella prize, and her short prose and poetry have appeared in over fifty different publications. She loves to dance. Find more at https://susanllin.wordpress.com.
