Weichu Huang
becoming/unbecoming
After three weeks, the roses you gave me
have faded to a much less devastating pink
while outside, the magnolia trees abound with lush, velvety petals
We are tumbling around their worried branches
pretending to do parkour in cotton voile dresses
and our fleshy thighs catch on
the folds of their bark;
Our delicate skin
blooms purple on our knees the colour of wisteria
or grapes
clambering up a metal staircase, where I dreamed
of kissing you every afternoon
And now at 4am we are more still
than the late-summer night where the ticks hide in long grass
and wild dogs dream of running through unpaved streets
kicking up dust along the river. My body
that can jump and slide and twist and love
is silent in its sleep
but the dance is in my bones
where my marrow used to be and I long
to scrape it out, to spread it on toast
and offer it to you;
To leave my soft, breakable body behind and say then, at least, that I had achieved
something buttery and umami
At my funeral
the land is my congregation You close your eyes
recalling every song you have ever heard
to try to fill the space you have been left in
Weichu Huang is a dancer and writer currently living, laughing and loving in Tāmaki Makaurau. Their work can be found in Starling, Mythos, in their body and under trees.