ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Lindsay Li is a Chinese American writer from the Bay Area. In her free time, she goes down Wikipedia rabbit holes and writes too much about summer. Her work is published or forthcoming in Frontier Poetry, The Connecticut River Review, The Comstock Review, and more.
February 11, 2026
ending credits for just a girl.
a lighter. a fake id. / a cheap bottle / of bartender’s strawberry syrup / for a daiquiri / to save the world. or burn it / down, garnish it with lemon / on the rocks, gulp gasoline / and teenage euphoria on the drive home. in the prequel of self-destruction, you tried / to curry favor with a potential boss / post-interview, over chicken katsu at the run-down shack in which you’ve / loved, first-time handholding and a pathetic plea to die / together, till humanity tears me apart. someway down the series, you’ll find yourself in / a summer course on anthropology / wondering how we evolved to rise and fall, burning out triumphantly / with a professor who offers you a wild ride / for an a+. neither will truly fill / the voids in you—but they’re the suitors / you’ll quote in captions down the road / & you’re just a girl. in the reverie of / sinful dreams, that girl wishes for lover’s reprieve. we call it ecstasy of living. you meet another girl who / brings you hair ties at a party, knows how to / pull it back while you cough shirley temples of blood into the sink. i did this before you, she says to her / protégé. the audience of deluded ancestors wants a fight and the tickets won’t sell / without action. in her hair, there’s a glass / swan that refuses to use its wings. in the night air, a bruise / dilates on your right arm like a pupil & you choke / on the tail of promise you won’t let go when / you say it. when she leaves you / in the parking lot, god drops a shooting star & you catch / a taste of its bliss / in your palm. the world isn’t full / of strawberry air, only metastasizing / into the unnamed wish of syrupy joy.
This poem is crazy and chaotic and everything my high school life hasn't been. My biggest inspiration was the pop culture depictions of high school, which often feature underage drinking as the norm and skipping school as what makes someone "popular." On the contrary, my own experience has been much tamer, and partying is far from what I enjoy doing in my free time. The poem concludes with the speaker's realization that perhaps what she's been chasing is superficial and that the happy moments she's living might not last — ending credits to her high school life as she ultimately burns out and sobers up.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published weekly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
