Three Poems by Shuqi Gao

Three Poems by Shuqi Gao

Did You Hear Sunrise Weeping From The Ripened Bones Last Night

Ever seen stars ignite in rain
Drops stab someone tried to
Scrape some sun dried past
Orange spilled with some blue

When thoughts split
Ends in your hair
Smudging your lungs with
Color who never blend

Ever found the fruit of tears
Congealed or
Newborns without them
Grew old on their first day

When birds stop breathing
Trees forget to stretch
Stones on a war

Where did they bury the last beast
who died from heartbreak
Where to fill my pillow in between dreams
Where to find the pendulum who
Stills time, the cloud who
Hasn’t frowned
The crowned heart who
Rings like chimes

When the fight swirls,
Place my body in middle of the path
Pick out the heaviest leaves
Wither in eternal night

Climb up the mountain of faces,
Look straight into the stars

Paper thin and sharp like blades

Tomorrow, tomorrow,
Hide your wings
Just like a human,
Head for dawn




something nails her to the grass relentlessly
something, and the grass itself
blindfolds the night
star gaps widely threaded
web her tighter cleaner shinier but she
can’t take the bind anymore
with her hair pinned, arms folded
nailed deeper with each heaving

some sway some stay firm
not one would carry her weight
so they toss her around and interweave
another web underneath, twinkling with
her hair and her arms rooted on her stone
cleft by a bird-plucking whisper:
something has to feed—

moths lived in her mouth
black in, black out
did the webs shape her
or the shapelessness of her keepers

stars missed a few steps
rest of the world sleeps, senseless
in the cruelty of the unconscious

something moves in her net



War on a Carousel

Whose face is that in the cracks
folding the dripping cloud
I push harder
the crack opens,
raining down ashes of color,

Whose voice is that in the creeks
puncturing the sorrowless crowd
I swim deeper
the creek drains,
airing bones of a thousand birds

I smash the wind with my whole body
broken fingers festering mouth on fire
people ask me if I want bread,
corners of my brain start to boil
while still warm,

Take off my face
Cough up my lungs
Pull out my tongue
Decolor me


Shuqi Gao is a bilingual writer from Xi’an, China. She received her B.S. in Finance from DePaul University and studied abroad at Westminster University in London. She is currently a student in the MFA program in creative writing at Hofstra University, where she received a Publishing Fellowship for AMP: Always Electric. She is a spiritual consultant, a DJ and an advocate for mental health. Her poetry focuses on art, psychology and current issues.