Devil’s Lake

Fall 2011 Issue

Diana Khoi Nguyen: Selkie Weaning Young

We remember the far-off songher precise voice

the way she walkedwhen we plucked fare from the shore

We made weed-wigsout of seagrass

chucked sand crabsat gulls—She was

always making dinneror spreading mortar.

Father'd bring home netsand salt.

Her caked fingers tore at fish twine.

We left our printsin her joined earth wares

kept our handsin the mix she spread

Father returned to us each night.

We found where he kept her huskits skin soft like oil lost in milk.

We thrust our handsinto the waxy bark

brought it to her & she

brought us to the beach

cut incisions in our small palms

told usto keep her clothes from flying.

We are marrow then a peach.Her form slipped between waves.

a photo of the author, Diana Khoi Nguyen DIANA KHOI NGUYEN was born and raised in Los Angeles and is completing an MFA at Columbia University, where she was the poetry editor of Columbia: A Journal of Literature and Art. Her awards include the Scott Merrill Award from the Key West Literary Seminar, a teaching fellowship from Columbia University, and the Fred & Edith Herman Memorial Prize from the Academy of American Poets. She has also been the recipient of scholarships from the Center for Book Arts, the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference, and the Juniper Writing Institute. Her poems appear in Pool Poetry. She divides her time between Seattle and New York. More from this issue>