you are a sailboat,
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
picking up fallen sheets as you

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.

Leave a Reply