Author: Catherine Hu
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Pork Belly on China
We face each other, stomachs heavywith the anticipation of a rich meal. The porcelain of the bowl is scaldingbut I do not mind it as golden broth warms my mouth.I run my nails over the engraved chrysanthemums. I am porcelain. I am stone. I am flesh. I am bone. You tell me your woes, and of course I…
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An Essay on Women’s Fiction in the 20th Century
“Imaginatively she is of the highest importance; practically she is completely insignificant. She pervades poetry from cover to cover; she is all but absent from history” – Virgina Woolf, ‘A Room of One’s Own’ The existences of women in fiction and reality are inextricably linked: the lives of literary women have, and always will, mirror…
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Gospel For the Wayward Daughters
Preface and writer’s note: “How can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?” I recently read an excerpt of The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. Having come across themes of the Southern Gothic in my school studies of Tennessee Williams (who is quickly…
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July Thirst
This poem was first published in Vol.1 of Cycles by Juniper Zine. You can read it here. The watermelon splits on the porch step—a sound like summer cracking its knuckles.Not like a broken promise,but a girl’s kneesswinging over the fence, daring the world to catch her. Pink flesh, too bright for the hour, bleeds into…
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Hometown Curb, July
We share a twin popsicle, cherry-bloodhalf-moons melting down our fingers.The H Mart clerk shortchanged us again,you complain, licking syrup off your thumb.Sitting on the curb, we are sticky-kneed,full after a day of slushies, blue tongues,& sunburns. I flick a pebbleinto the street—clink—it rollsinto the gutter with a flattened coke can& one cicada shell clinging to…
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Painting Ghosts: A Review of No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai
Trigger warning: this review contains discussion of mental health, depression, drug abuse, and suicide. ‘If we knew the antonym of crime, I think we would know its true nature. God… salvation … love … light. But for God there is the antonym Satan, for salvation is perdition, for love there is hate, for light there…
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Champagne Vs. Tea Parties: The Fragile Lives of the Upper Class in Mrs Dalloway and The Great Gatsby
Privilege, when destabilised, shows its hollowness—a truth depicted by both Virginia Woolf in Mrs. Dalloway and F. Scott Fitzgerald in The Great Gatsby. Indeed, in both novels the upper classes experience a growing disillusionment when the stability and privilege of their lives are disrupted by changing circumstances. While Mrs. Dalloway is set in London and…
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On Letting the Child Go but Keeping the Handle
My childhood is like a cup of coffee. I scrunch up my nose when its sour bitterness unfurls on my tongue, and I force myself to let it slip down my throat without sweetener or milk. I do so to relish its undertones – sometimes nutty, sometimes earthy – and to let its warmth sear…
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Meditations / On a Blue Marble
At this moment you stand in quiet contemplation. Take a breath. There you are.Yes – at this moment, when afterdecades of war and terrible victories,You remain standing, still and straight as a steeple,in the centre of your rooms, towns, cities, countries,Planet. All that you know. By now you will have experienced The imprudent comings and goings of…
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Fruit of the Soul
Meet me at the orchard, I have a gift for you.A lovely red fruit, with lovely red skin, and lovely red bones, too.My pomegranate love will swell with the spring. I offer up, palms out, saying eatCome, devour the heart of your beloved,Deliciously and perniciously tart as those six grand seeds. Fruit’s blood, my blood,…
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