Maw Shein Win Poems

The sun is a cymbal.
A cat is a bear.
An accordion is a frosted cupcake.

A gargoyle is a steering wheel.
The barber is a valley.
A tulip is a black and white film.

Architecture is a mustard sandwich.
A wild turkey is a forest.
The director is a fur sweater.

A mansion is a savage gown.
The guard is catnip.
A mink is a caveat.

The pipe is a magnolia tree.

The magnolia tree is a blanket.
The blanket is a flamingo.
The flamingo is a beach mat.
The beach mat is a soldier.
The soldier is a tangerine.
The tangerine is a villa.
The villa is a pony.
The pony is a peony growing
near an abandoned tool shed.
...

if you encounter an artist at close range:
remain calm
pick up small children immediately
stand upright
maintain eye contact
back away slowly
collect branches
paint them white
observe the blue jay
skip lunch
drink wine
stay up late, very late
follow the breadcrumbs
call the cougars!
call the mountain lions!
document all sensations
be assertive-if approached,
move arms as if swimming
backwards in a lake
speak intermittently
and, above all,
do not run
...

I told you it was a pyramid scheme. You don't remember?

We were drinking whisky. It was spring.

You were convinced that if you invested the money that your dad had left you, you would be rich. Mega rich. And you were going to buy a house for me in Petaluma. You don't remember?

I said you were crazy thinking that beetle juice, oh yeah, that diving beetle juice would cure all.

Including everything I suffered from.

Insomnia, hives, anxiety, allergies, poor memory. Truly, you don't remember?

Well I do. You were wearing a blue cashmere coat that day.

It was overcast. Even the air tasted gray.

You announced, I have something to show you. Don't tell anyone.
Not even, Willow. Definitely not Willow.

You put your hand in your bag and pulled out a square bottle
with a pyramid-shaped stopper.

In the bottle was a beetle. Dark brown with olive streaks. It scared the hell
out of me. But I was mesmerized.

What the…? Jesus, it's moving!

You said the liquid emitted from the beetle's body had a powerful anti-oxidant,
an almost supernatural quality to heal the human body.

The bank had just transferred the funds into your account and you were about to write a check to the president of the company. What was it called? Water Tiger.

That's right. Water Tiger.
...

I recognize her voice because it's my voice. I don't know that name because it's his name. You thought you heard my voice, but it was your voice. I think your voice has a name, but it's my name.

She met herself in a restaurant. It wasn't her restaurant, but it was a place she had been before. She had eaten eggs there. Potatoes Anna. The dishes had no names. But the waiter had a high voice.


How could you not remember me? We were married last May.

The cakes were baked by professionals. One of them looked like a marvelous dress.

What will you bring to the table? What is your sir, name? What are the camels doing here?

Please. Change. For. Me.

Are those your wind chimes?
...

I am a teacher. They are civil engineers.
We study the rules of grammar.
I write on the whiteboard. Sentences in active and passive.
Either an indirect object or a direct object may become the subject of a passive sentence.
He walks in late. He wears a parka. He avoids my eyes.
The students look down.
We assume there are rules that both parties must follow.
A written or unwritten contract. He is anger and rage.
We can hear Pearl at her keyboard. A nine to five contract.
Two weeks off the first year. Three the second.
A health insurance plan through Kaiser. A high deductible.
We are nerves and muscles and vessels of blood.
We are socially acceptable behaviors.
We are brown blazers with lint on them and failed attempts at connection.
Phrases and clauses and summary notes of longing and grief.
Memos to parents who are aging.
An email to the son lost and wandering through Georgia.
A text to the neighbor who undresses in front of the window.
We signed contracts. There are expectations.
In the passive, the object of an active verb becomes the subject of a passive verb.
He brings his fist to the table. We have forgotten the contract.
He has not read the rules.
...

i.
Blanket streets with plum blossoms.
Rest body against warm concrete.
Find rose petals on sidewalk.
Glimmer of the memory garden.

ii.
Follow the trail of invisible bees.
Nectar guides for the lost ones.
Fling lasso into summer darkness.
Hear whistles and megaphone.

iii.
Hold body close to body.
Breathe in the greenhouse.
Wear wet glitter and silver hose.
Lick salt on skin.

iv.
Catch whispers in libraries.
Greet strangers with acorns and grapefruit.
Remember eyes, ghosts, smoke.
Watch brothers as they disappear.

v.
Imagine a new world.
Keep sisters close.
...

for Thomas Scandura
I was hypnotized by nine.
I met him in a back valley.
The cape he wore appealed.
I took his hand and followed him home.

Nine will never end.
An ally. We skateboard through the alley.
Our powder blue capes flying
through the valley of nine.

We did it nine times.
Capes flung on the floor. Caps
hung on the door.
Naples, Nutbread, Noontide, Nightcaps.

Nevertheless. Nine is fine with us.
We swoop through space and time,
wild capes and caps, captivated.
Never ending valley of nine.
...

a smear of color and then as a girl in motion

the discomfort induced by this cross-wired
carnal narcissism suggests a sort of discourse on
the increasing denaturalization of nature and

the mechanization of creativity
which mines the
organic geometry of genetic and cellular forms
to create compositions
that attempt to fit the details of her own
life
into economically derived systems

obscured by a thick dollop of lustrous
pale-pink oil paint
cryptic narratives

map out the descent
from rural grace into suburban angst

an obsessive quest for order

notice the vicissitudes
of personal existence
travel endlessly in search
of the sublime
realize the artifice
of your constructions
...

The scar is a girl
and the wheelchair is a woman.
The crutch is butch.
The drugs are good.
The light is dry.
The air is paint.
The bed isn't there.
The nurse wears a cape
and the doctor is a boy.
The wheelchair is there.
The scar is at a loss.
The wheel catches light
off the reflection
of water in a bag.
The bag is on a pole.
The walker is a man in blue pants.
The scar cream isn't there.
The air is blue paint.
The light is a small girl
with her face in the pillow.
The crutch is a doctor
with a diamond on his forehead.
The diamond is a tunnel
with a one-way road.
The ambulance drives
towards the east.
The bed is dry paint
and the scar rejects the water.

The bag leaks a trickle of tiny blue diamonds.
...