Cynthia X. Hua is a poet and artist. She was previously a Finalist for the Norman Mailer Awards in Poetry and has been published in Boulevard, Carbon Culture and the Harpoon Review. She is currently a Fellow with Brooklyn Poets.



Also by Cynthia X. Hua: Speed

Poets Resist
Edited by Asante Keron Hamid
October 22, 2018

Cynthia X. Hua

Sunset

written in response to Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony In the last scene of the movie, a hand raised silently. A list of names scrolled wordlessly like the space between trees. They’re beautiful like sheet music, hand-sketched, unstruck chords, the pale bodies of cedars bathed in sunlight, refracting ordinary rainbows. Behind them, a red sun is dipping low. These nights, I’m a matchstick in a line-up of piano notes, screaming at the TV. I throw my voice box into the blaze so somebody on the screen will hear me. This winter is silent like you wouldn’t believe. Today, a tree fell in a forest, while the whole world was watching. Behind her, shadows collapsed across the centuries, effigies of a dream where the sky was falling. Past the sunset, appears another ordinary evening. The theater lights come back up. Clouds rise, restless paper bags, and half the Earth gets up, heads back to their cars, back into the sharp air, clutching their keys, moving quickly, through the chilly parking lots, past the blue emergency phones, back to the shape of a woman walking home alone at night inside all the eerie silences where she can hear her own heartbeat.



Poets Resist is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.