Accordingly in the 19th century, the word ‘celestial’ was
used as a slur against Chinese immigrants, who were seen
as strange and from somewhere far away.
I build a UFO. I paint it
sparkly purple like the best sex bruise
you ever got. I line
my foil aircraft with crystals
humming different vibrations.
I woo the shit out of this
engine battery. Rocket fuel and
hard rock swing. My launchers
breaking sound, my body galactic
with fabulous intent. See you
in the next nebula. I am good
at doing what I am told. If they say
Be holy, be heavenly,
be astronomical sky-slur. Be
alienesque straggler in a
foreign world, I can do that.
I could snatch a body. Yours, even.
Could morph grotesque and
horny, tusked and tentacled, pale
cream and hard liquor. Broken ice
the color of eel’s blood, a tangy
volcanic wellspring for a mouth.
A thing that swears nothing
of beauty and still burrows a home
anywhere. This interloper with shiny
rocks in her pocket. Strange newcomer,
pretty automaton, the one who
came to make your babies pay.
The one who built enough rooms
in her spaceship for everyone
to fit. The one who crops circles in the
Midwest, levitates your militia.
I’ll park my box and throw
a good bash. Every word they
have for me only drew me closer
to the stars. I siege this planet
and leave. A body cultivated in
the heavens, a party in the sky.
Added: Tuesday, May 9, 2023 / Used with permission.
Nancy Huang (she/they) grew up in America and China. Her debut collection, Favorite Daughter, was the winner of a Write Bloody First Book Prize. Her poetry, plays, and prose have been published by The Offing, The Margins, Poets.org, and A24. She has an MFA from NYU. She works in a cemetery.
Image Description: A close-up of Nancy Huang outside with sun shining on their short, wavy dark hair. She looks down with eyes closed and a slight smile. Nancy wears a white, collared button up shirt with small black and white illustrations of figures.
