Franny Choi


Posted by on Nov 08 2016, in poems

Damned if I do, damned,
damned. What pet name
to give the firing squad?
How to deescalate
a burning house? What’s
the proper way to bury
your sister – alive, in fistfuls,
or years before she asks
for lungs? And what
shovel, really? what boots?
what booming text, what pundit
wiktionary snuff cycle, what
hands, ever, have I owned?
I slice open my palms & find
more palms. Everything I touch
turns to a wet claw, as is
my right, as an American.
Right? Better a hole in the ground
than a whole village? As if
my feet are anywhere near
the road. What dream,
which woke. What chokehold
to smother this too-trebly
dronebeat? Which otherskull
to cleave open with my own
only teeth, stolen, like everything,
from the grave of a stranger
wearing my face? I will go,
I swear, I will go with the one
who sings it best, my favorite
song: you chose to be good.
you chose to be
good. you chose to
be good. you
chose to be