by Ethan Hsiao
On moons when my back is turned,
it is guilty pleasure
languor in fistfuls. I overhear dogma of
the womb—idle hands are sin
murder, perhaps of an inner child
or the wild offshoots of a
spring bamboo; dignity is maintained
except with private flagellation &
A visiting finch whispers, softly,
there is no harm in remembering
I whisper back to her, softer,
but there is,
fearing the echo of my winged flight.
Ethan Hsiao is a student and writer from Las Vegas who is currently attending Harvard University. He has no prior publications. Previously, Ethan has received accolades for speeches, essays, and poetry.