Jamez Chang

Two Poems

A Separate Air

We swayed together in passenger-time, swallowed blurred metal. Rotating blades slower than window chimes, we stayed plugged in past flickering. A Box fan shoveled air across our bedroom, but the wooden slats stood still, the air was dented, flawed like a whisper through tunnels.

Tyler's Bottle

Cramped, we move our legs. And only then, does the child blink-open to see two adult bodies breathing beside him. Two imperfect statues in trip-wire pantomime, who couldn’t keep a nightlight from flickering. So our baby cries. After the flail-rage-to-hunger whips back his head, we see the bubbles rise, like scurrying eggs of masago sushi, a frantic orange of trust, of milk inside him, until the hitch forward. And our perfect piece of elbow inlet shifts.

Jamez Chang’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in FRiGG, Prime Number, Lines + Stars, Boston Literary Magazine, Poydras Review, Yes, Poetry, and the anthology Yellow Light. After graduating from Bard College, Jamez went on to become the first Korean-American to release a hip-hop album, Z-Bonics (1998), in the United States. He lives in Englewood Cliffs, NJ with his wife and 3 daughters. Visit: www.jamezchang.com.