By Julie Tu
This is grace:
I thought contact
always meant
pain
but when we walk
you take my hand,
I look at you;
I'm smiling.
Julie Tu
What Happened to the Girl Who Cut Off All Her Hair and Wanted to Fall in Love? /
By Julie Tu
You sped until a skyline disappeared behind us. From the edge of a field we watched a sunset. My feet were propped up on your dashboard, my knees drawn to my chest. You laid your head on the wheel.
He broke my heart; you heard it. I used to be alive; you saw it.
You loved her even then. I cried for what I no longer believed in.
This was Spring of two and a half years ago. When I became another bitch on a list, all I said was, “You told me so.” When you insulted me further, I thanked you and left. You called me immediately to apologize. I asked you to forgive me instead, I should have listened.
Civilians /
By Julie Tu
You trade your trash for mine
and it’s a burdensome exchange
but when our mess combines
it forms a bridge of pain
which hope then travels by
and satisfies; selves lain
bare with words known dry
compared to summer city’s rain
inside your chest and mine.