Not the metaphorical hooks of the problem,
but the tender meat swinging at its edge:
how to wake up every morning & climb
into my own body.
I mean,
I grew up leashed
to the sturdy slash of the equator.
What did I know about Spring?
How it circles around, year after year,
to hold the brittle bones of Winter?
*
When I dream
I am no longer ghost.
I am a tender hook
of hangnail. A warm body
asleep in the arms
of a burning building.
I am a small pebble
inside a shoe. A soft
landing of yesterday's
remains. A home
full of bees,
shuddering.
*
I do it without thinking,
most days. Myself & I
brush our teeth watching
ourselves watch Netflix
in the mirror.
I fold myself into bed
& we dream in the same
single smear of color,
usually blue. Sometimes
it's us wading
through the tall arms of lalang,
their heads nodding against
our knees, our shadows
moving slow as a sigh
over the field.
*
So maybe I am both
the mimosa & the flat palm
over it — both the leaves
drawing shut & the burrowing
heat of something like Summer.
The open window with a finger
skirting its sill,
sipping sunlight.
Maybe tomorrow
I wake up inside myself
& do not ask to be beside.
How to Live with Yourself
These poems want to know how you live with yourself. How do you share a body with a shadow? When an empty house sings to you, do you hum along? Are you more weapon or wound? In this debut collection, Ang Shuang holds a scalpel to her memories, dissecting and resecting them. Doors are opened into therapists' offices, backseat break-ups, sleeper trains. Emotions are skinned, peeled, and pressed between pages. How To Live With Yourself will not give you answers. But it will wait with you until they arrive.
Excerpt - "How Do I Live With Myself?"
Math Paper Press, 2022
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ang Shuang
Ang Shuang is the author of the poetry collection How To Live With Yourself. A Best of the Net nominee, Shuang holds an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. Her work has been seen in The Rumpus, Wildness, and SingPoWriMo.
What does "Mata Hati | 心眼 | Eye of the Heart | மனக்கண் வழியே" mean to you in writing?
Writing, for me, has always been a delicate balance between emotion and beauty. Similarly, "Mata Hati" to me means carefully considering matters of the heart and finding new, beautiful ways to translate those emotions into writing.
What does your writing process look like? Do you type or write? Are there multiple drafts, long pauses, or sudden bursts of activity?
I prefer to type — otherwise, I'd have to deal with scribbles all over the page! I tend to write my poems in one sitting, with a mix of pauses and bursts while I mull over the right words.
What does your working space look like?
A desk, keyboard, and computer, with my dog Luna sleeping beside my chair.
Make an elevator pitch for your shortlisted work in 30 words or less.
Raw, introspective, and deliberate, How To Live With Yourself questions what it means to exist with oneself and others. It's a collection I hope readers will resonate with.
Could you share a pivotal moment as you were writing this work?
Many of these poems were written years before publication in this book. While gathering them into this collection, I enjoyed looking back at those moments and appreciating the person I used to be.
If you could give one advice to yourself when you were writing this book, what would it be?
Share the process with more people. Writing this felt like such an intensely personal and vulnerable act that I mostly kept it to myself. Looking back, I'd include more people I love and admire in the journey!
