Fossil Heart

These things you call miracles, they are
spilled milk

That thing you call your head, it has
the anatomy of an egg:

shell
albumin
ginkgo gold yolk

Those things you call planets, they are
cold baoding balls
revolving in my palm

The sun, I can hear it rising,
grinding
against the ground

Flowers unfurling, petals crackle lightning

I fall asleep with my pinky in my
ear to
hear the tempo of my fossil heart


I sit on a still carousel


I live in a country of clouds


This text originally appeared in Sherry Luo’s Imperative of the Night (2017)


Sherry Luo is an undergraduate at the University of Georgia pursuing a B.S. in Genetics and a B.A. in English. The recipient of the 2016 Georgia Poet Laureate Prize, she is the author of Imperative of the Night (The Lune, 2017). Her work appears or is forthcoming in Atlanta MagazineFigroot PressThe Madras MagMandala Journal, and The Shanghai Literary Review.

 
 
Sherry Luo