Founded in the fall of 1991, Laurel Moon is Brandeis' oldest, national literary publication. Each issue we publish features original work from undergraduate students.
the artist tells me her tattoo
needles & ink bottles are more
than home decor. the apartment
in hongdae is hip hop without
the backtrack of mom’s voice
thirteen hours away asking why.
to get here, i squinted at the sun
hidden behind shades of air pollution,
desperate to reach in & pull him
out of the sky. celebrities
are like the dead. the ride to heaven
a walk of shame, the seeds
that should stay in my body
popping out as an offering after
rewatching giriboy’s performance of 빈집
one too many. i told myself if i saw it again
without the reminder inked into my skin
i’d scratch it there.
날마다 i go to coffee shops
& can’t seem to learn korean
fast enough. a post-nightmare
realization that begins hyperfocus
& embodies an essay titled:
i cope with reality, my sexuality & dead-daddy issues
with male celebrities who don’t speak my language --
gender, class, or english.
my thesis argues that house floods
are cathartic & if only people
could wash away themselves
maybe then my skin would be unmarked.
the final pages are an index,
terms: daydreams & fiction.
i cite wikipedia & pornhub.
the first time i saw giriboy i was a starfish
on my sister & i’s beds, pushed together like
we were kids again. i had enough watermelon
in my bowl to fill our whole cottage. now, i’m closer
to him than i ever was before, but i feel so far from home.
날마다 – everyday
빈집– empty house