DAVID HONG - POEMS

David Hong is currently a second-year undergraduate student at the University of Pennsylvania. In the summers, he lives in the heart of South Korea with his dog, Maxwell.

The History Channel Presents: Nostradamus
​

​I was once convinced that
If I took the large plastic bowl
From the kitchen table (the one
That holds the fruit) and let the tap
Run as I gently rocked it in the sink,
                             I could take my new accomplishment into
My room on a dark Sunday and onto
my laminated desk and see!
Another news report in the towers between Tarawa and Staten
Island and (in?) the fall
 
Of another time, head, shoulder, Marat left with holes in
His salty red bathwater reflected in the tap; Spirits with
Unseen entries in Britannica marveling at our generation’s Pompeii
And Rising Sun, left to the justice of the Kublai and
Printing press, mess halls of immigrants that I would no longer
Recognize as brethren with bowls of bone marrow broth and mercury gas
                            Left lazy in the blue air. I was certain
But never dared.

Michelin Man
​

​I heard they
Stuck a needle in your
Eardrum the other day
And I was wondering
How it must have
Felt when the nurse’s clementine
Colored hands clamped your neck
And head in place so you couldn’t
Squirm anymore. Could you
Feel the stretched deerskin straining
Against the steps of sterilized steel until everything
Just shattered? Did you pinch your leg and squeeze
Your eyes when the serum flooded your
Canals to drown the whistles? I remember
How my tears snuck out when they drilled
Into a nerve in my mouth. Anyway,
I was just wondering.

Tessa
​

​Max and I started planning our trip out
West when the doctors told us that they
Would stop fighting and start helping him
Hurt less instead. We didn’t talk any differently, but he and
I knew this wouldn’t be my last
Time seeing the stream of fish and the sun carving the field
Up into new slivers of life. Still
I left it to grow from inside, so that I could drive
And I looked at him and smiled
                      
Whenever I remembered to. And I hugged him
When we stopped driving and told him stories
That he used to laugh at
Before he went to sleep that night. Morning, I said
To him when I opened my eyes. He met mine with
Increasing size, the kind that I would see when
He needed me to be right, and we couldn’t stop the streams
When he asked What if we can’t catch any? But I still
Drove and felt the creases near my temples every time
I looked at him. I’d like to think that I did
 
as much as I could when he crossed that field
To reach the icy clear water and sat there
With his heart submerged until
The sun had set, and we both knew that
It was time to go back home
In just another moment or two. I’d like to think that he
Didn’t cry by himself that night because he could
See the streams and the sun carving the field
Up into my new sliver of life.

Saint-Just
​

​They killed a man today;
They wouldn’t let him talk.
We got to watch from the right
Side near the big speakers that
Reverberate like splashes. I had
Been excited all day to hear what he had to
Say to the crowd.
 
A prepared speech
Of sorts, filled to the brim with Pride, Molly,
Doubt; newish recipes for Spam (steam for 15 minutes, deep-fry); his
Favorite brand of aftershave; the secret
To cheaper airline travel;
Percy, the Bermese
Mountain dog; his favorite racy podcast for evening commutes;
Alternative sources of protein; how to throw
A sinker, curveball, and
Splitter; the worst book he
Remembers reading;
Shortcuts to Cornell Elementary School,
Morse Preschool, Hidden Oak Middle
School (not in that order);
Why Tony is still
A piece of shit; objectively the best
Multivitamin on the market;
Three alternatives
To a French press;
The way Molly looks on Thursday
Mornings;
                           Or the noises he would
Excrete as the blade came down.
 
But his pebble dropped! and out
Came no sound.