you are a sailboat,
love,
bright porcelain and coral blue.
you put your body to the
wind and ride it
don’t fight it
let it take control.

darling, you are
a city gray,
shoulders against the rain,
comfort to the masses.
you rush through
the streets with a savior’s
willow,
picking up fallen sheets as you
go.

beloved, you remind me
of grass clover green, you spring
breath you duckling
down you
brassy trumpet tune.

you are a house, lover,
my heart’s home– you cracked voice
you autumn wind
you coffee and grenadine afternoon.

Hana Tzou is a dancer, a poet, a coffee addict, a city girl, a future English major, the one you go to with homework questions, someone who puts pink raincoats on her beagle, the grammar police, a candle connoisseur, the Queen of Sestinas, and a chopstick master. She doesn’t like being called “Hannah” and loves to procrastinate AP homework by writing. You can find her work in Stone Soup, Teen Ink, Germ Magazine, and elsewhere.