Trinh Lê
Dear Theresa
I.
Dear Theresa,
A white rabbit hops
from margin to margin
toward the horizon of
love’s end the flinching
sun set on ending the day
chariot bay sludge puddle
of dreams tomorrow is an
oil spill irradiating from
an infected ear there are
stories about this water
and fish swimming under wh
o tell the stories BEST.
II.
Dear Theresa,
Four sore losers ag
o, there lived a river. A beautiful river torn right through with
greed and green promises and the cruelty of history. I hate that name.
I want to tear this appearance righ through
I can’t stand this performan e and I cant deal with this bull
or its
hornets nest of absolute fish
net legged web webbed light wire
It needs a skimmer. It needs a swimmer
The river needs a lover that will tear through this page like a knife.
I need a knife. I need a knife that will
tear right through the page like light and a girl. A girl and a
light. A girl and a knife. A knife and which
one is tipping off the fish again?
tearing right through the skin of it.
This lends itself to deuces. And delusions. I want to tear this
page right through maybe it leeches into me like little bits of
light, right. Right. Right. Put it to rest already.
III. The story goes that the fish fell in love with
a cat. Or the cat fell in love with the fish.
one did not eat the other. One did not drown th
eir lover or leave them out to dry in the sun.
They fell in love. Which means they didn’t kill
each other. Those are the options on planet eat
I think. Planet Eat is a simple place. There is
water and there is the place some sometimes wat
chful eyes in the sky decide who or what
goethe of course a german shows up in my
poem when i didn’t ask him to. I blame the
wandering ghost of my great grandfather who
haunts me like the light ligt of diesilkshe
probably thought it was a good idea i wonder
who thought it was a good idea to do that to
take one look at a cat through the glass of
water and think: it will not eat me. And he
did not. He did not eat the fish, he kissed
the fish, he’s only seen now in the whiskers
on other skinny fishes in the pond on Panet
Janet Ran it ran that red light right on th
rough cutoff jeansred white and bullish blu
eish kitsch can’t quit the bluesian bluffs or
the sea.
\ \
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Pulsewidth apart. you and i are a
but a pulsewidth’s breathbeat apar
ition and when the sun shines like
it does here i feel you in the dying
leaves and car exhaust and the whisk
ing pedestrian longings of a dyke
stuck between two bus routes runni
ng north south i am oriented toward
the ocean if this counts as an oce
and i see how the sun shines on th
is crack, sweat collector basin fu
nctio notwidthstanding the wind, th
ose 3 PM winds and the fog, that d
awning cloud cover coaxing its way
into this crackling basin at the e
nd of this newt world.
IV. She will always choose
her freedom.
She will always
choose her freedom.
She will
always choose her freedom
like she chooses her women
her hair cut and her fishskin skirtsteak for
munch and skinner whipsmart t
eller strange fella uncle to
kneelength skirts and stockin
gs to matchstick girl shoes a
fine rarity leather parity at
church they teach you charity
but simply the kind that girl
kind can do in patent leather
shoes.
V.
braise me bruide me raise me ruse
me rise out of me specter girl gh
ost girl of the shoppih gale gail
on the prevailing winds of girls
whinedrunk on girls today is girl
day today is today is girl day pay
your dues boys it's girl day today
the girls are coming for their bo
dies they want their bodies in tacks
and tiles for here and there and
wherever yes comes from in the body
brood me bruise me here there where
the ruse lives inside me girl dear
girl i want optic uptick sputnick
punch flick hzam string men sing men
straigtin' straight into the ground
girls under cover girls over the cou
nter girls hi girls how are you girl
say when is the rooster coming home
does he have mymanswers say girl wil
der things have sought me out girls
girls why don't you chock me up with
your curls girl hi girls why don't y
ouch that's my funny bone girl my gh
ost girl my fish eyed ankles watch y
ou girl they watch your ass walk my
dog girl hey girl watch me dog my wa
lk girl I like your dogs girl wanna
kiss my cod flog puck shuck crux fl
apper flagging girls girls girls and
those good boys I adorewait a minute
girl let me put my shoes on let me g
o outside and get this trite girl to
say for once in my life like i mean
it: Dear girl, the story of your so
sorry oppstacle popsicle sharp sickl
sucks to be starred all in red and y
ellow gold good gold my ghost girl l
oves to catch my fish dinner on a ho
ok girls love fishskin good for girl
skin girls in skins in the night tha
t girlskin sweat like citrus moonlan
ding ding ding it's the president ca
talling where's my dyke oh my count
ry needs you dear dyke the girls nee
d your big bad butch bottle green ki
ss
VI.
the scent of smoke its dance curse scroll
mirror projection night room living room
heady smoke transportation to you. To you.
puck. The puck building. Right on price st.
prince st. Angel breath bouquet and haze l
nut chocolates for three. Incense from canal
st. National light. The night of the living
the alley way stage lit, metal marriage Barr
icade. I think I found you. The rain came do
wny on my hair. Arrangement of ghost bouquet
one chocolate for each poet. Incense that wo
uldn’t light. I wonder how long it freed itse
lf of itself. Are you free now as smoke fre
ckles the altar with ash are you free as smo
ldering heart remains caught in the grain of
memory. Are you free now as rain burns the h
old of paper over your name are you free no
te descending on the brain like a memory are
you free now as the tree loses its tells and
i am its fortune teller bank teller midnight
typing up shapes of you series of incongruou
us us us us us us us us us us us us us us us
VII.
Dear plant mother, I just need to get t
o the other side of this night. On the o
ther side of this night, on the other si
ghtward fight for a breath to breathe an
ounce of Theresa into this dead air not
ched with the wax casts of torsos worth
saving. everything is illuminated in its
dying. punhungry punch into the gullet f
or that glib reply, dead air. dea r dead
air, when they whisk me away into the sc
rying light will you give me a sigh to l
oose unto this dead world whistling thro
ugh the hollow bones of bullrt blurt bul
ging pockets of artillery pocked on thes
e beachsides agape at the expanse of kil
ler wavelengths of Theresa yes Theresa e
very very tender pause every tender butt
nestled in the sandy contours of the sea
see us for who we are: waking ghostwomen
haunting the hills with our wretched des
picable wants our seething rage our teet
hing gnashing cravings for release even
from this this wretched etchedof the ear
thing lot in our bones, gunpowder cracke
d and wrapped in red on the new year und
er the dark moon our grinding bones our
desires alight in the night descend on t
ender streets lined in red and the drago
n eyeing the show wants a piece of the a
ction and so with one loose thread of fi
re, lights the entire fucking night with
the light of bitchstrength rage but fear
not loves, fear not angels, fear only th
ree things: the cold, empty hands, and m
atchsticks. false dragons everywhere, yo
u see. Please forgive me, for I only wis
hed to see the light catch your eye, umb
er buttons alight in the nightmare calle
d
VIII.
Dear Theresa,
I went to your death I went to the end of your hairlocked ends I
found the place the hairline fracture of time where life so
tightly knotted its hands
frayed like grieving fingers and
the couple embracing in the alley too watching this dance for
the dead.
what is your relation ship to insanity? What is your
relationship to the dead? What is your relationship to the
mapmaker draftsman peacemaker sight seer sear pulsewidth apart
from thresholder waxwaning facepacechaseracemasecaselace knotted
laced bound taped stuck caught subdued by fingernails caught in
murderous skin crescents blood etched into a sky of violen t
skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin skin
skin skins kin.
Dust settles until sittred again.
Dust settles until stirred again.
Dust settles until stirred again.
IX.
I went to the place your name entered the tide of human miseries. I
don’t write to reduce you I write to be close to you. All this time I
write to be near you. I love you. In an even more senseless way than
the living. A living love grows and disappoints and surprises and
fails you in spectacular and erotic ways. This kind of love is an
unwilling martyrdom and I don’t want you to be that to breach time
with the evervescent ever essence of of of of what must be named:
Theresa.
Trinh Lê is a Bay Area dyke and community archivist. Their poetry can be found in Vănguard, Tinderbox, and The Ana. Connect with them @emojipoetics on Instagram.