Stacey Tran

Spit All Over Someone With A Mouthful of Milk If You Want to Find Out Something About Their Personality Fast*



We couldn’t come up with another name for what this day is. Let’s fold the letters back & forth to spell: They Continue Killing Us. Someone at the governor’s hotel is fucking someone against a marble bathroom counter while thinking about the next version of us they want to get rid of. I’m conflicted by the sight of my friend wearing a safety pin. I want to reach across the room. How are you? My brain feels like a mashed-up runway of links shared on social media while I sit in a room filled with books & friends & their dogs & my head is empty except for a single thought: I’m not the only one who feels this way. On the bus I pay attention to the way people use their phones. No one clicks on anything with a picture & a headline. It’s enough. There’s a wire hanger between my shoulder blades barely holding together a small pain, reminding me I’ve been complacent & complicit. A bell stretches out inside me, tolling my own deafness. My mother crossed an ocean with 135 other people hiding in a fishing boat without water for days. When was the last time you thought about your own mother crawling. My father hid in his sister’s basement for three years because he didn’t want to fight. He didn’t believe the jungle was for killing. So he became an undocumented citizen in the country he was born.




* Jenny Holzer

Going Street



Did you know the sun would become this sharp


Daughter edge of you against a filing cabinet or wool


Weight of scientists on a balance beam in love


Making a pie in the time of sugars


I won’t fuss a lie


Steady as clear as the check lost in the


Markers we have for food tried for the first time


Noodles with pigs blood


Flat & wide besides our


Neighbors moved back into our yard


Which means when I led your naked body between


Doors they could see right through me


I don’t like it when


Cream floats to the top of my coffee


Expensive flecks woven into seasons


When names & places are referenced more than once


In a day a couch becomes an outer


Layer as natural a state as wanting to do


Nothing. I look down at the space my legs


Know the lecture she gives word for word


STACEY TRAN is a writer from Portland, OR. She curates Tender Table and her writing can be found in diaCRITICSThe FanzineGRAMMAand The Volta. Wendy’s Subway released her first chapbook, Fake Haiku (February 2017).