Elle Hong

Victor’s Return

They’d carry me on shoulders,
the uncles, the aunties,
the mountains. Say with their mouths,

“I’m proud of who you’ve become,”
not knowing who I’ve been, or
why. Dress like a boy when

everyone knows. They just 
don’t say anything.

Miss guided

The nerve of you
to bring home a future city councilor.

Call him a friend
from the theatre up the hill
from the high school you attended.

Nine years your senior, he
blames not knowing better
on desire.

Groom as in opposite of wife.
Groom as in you were supposed to take care of me.

On future breaks home from university,
you walk forests with him, still.

Blue Hawai`i

It was not Honolulu as I’d imagined.

The guardians did not guard,
and the lovers did not love,
and the guardians turned a cheek about

lovers turned fathers who
         turned me out
of this state. I had always known

the space between
then and now, the space between my head and my heart,

my throat          :          choked up
gagged                       a disposable receptacle
my throat               :              a site meant for leaving    

       a nonplace     :     you,

a nonperson, nonnative crying to the sea, spewing
up shorelines. I’m sorry I can’t leave this
behind.           I’m sorry I
won’t be home this Christmas.

Author’s Bio

Elle Hong is an antidisciplinary artist currently based in Cheyenne/Ute/Arapaho territories (Denver, CO). She holds an MFA in Dance with a graduate certification in Emergent Technologies & Media Arts Practice from the University of Colorado Boulder, and a BA in Dance/Sociology from Wesleyan University. Elle’s poems, hybrid essays, and art writing have appeared in the digital review, just femme & dandy, Emergency INDEX, among others.

Photos by staff