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Churan Xu

​waves

                                      Time [was/is/will be] measured by
enjambments. The creases in between.                          The silence more telling
                                             than our articulations. Sinking
          acidity. Waking up and falling into dreams with the same emotional
                                                         density. On repeat.
                                                                     You break the routine
          by noticing and grappling on to the nouns that hide in deceiving corners of the eye.

                                                                                   Found,
vintage fans in another                            tinted decade. When the tingly anticipation of
                                                            damp, neon streets awaited
                                      complacency. Somewhere         with more commas
                                                                       and without me.

                                                                       Pruned inners
                                                                 stand the testaments
                                                 of  function, eager to reproduce relief.
                            Pity is an emotion that                bites. It leaves with markings.

                                           Markings that transform underneath the skin.
                               That time I spent three hours hand-cleaning clothes; edges
                                                              of my fingers wrinkled up,
                                               revealing the patterns of             my lineage.

                                                       You worship sulfuric soaps like God
                                               they scrape off the redundancies and mishaps.
                                                             Remind you of the true taste of
                                                                                   existence
                                                                      by invading your skin.

                                  Your taste buds. Fruit plates every afternoon, clocked at 16:00.
Remnants of labor, salt crunches, a national past you shove away behind closed doors under the
                                                                                laundry pile.
                                                        If time was truly measured by the taps
                                                           of water, it must have been infinite
                                          Only the skin peels up, morphing the rough borders.
                                                                           Until that one day
                                                         I dream of holding your lifeless hand,
                                          and tracing back to find the same waves to your heart.
                                              Wishing, with one last prayer, to find you ashore.

About the Author

Churan Xu is a 17-year-old student writer born in Shanghai, China. She has lived in the Middle East before attending The Lawrenceville School. Constantly inspired by the confluence of cultures, she wrote nonfiction works alongside cultivating a passion for bilingual poetry. She is the managing editor of Living Chronicles and the founder of AMPLIFY, an interdisciplinary space combining viewpoints of music, writing and anthropology. Her work has been recognized by the Black Warrior Review. She also loves baking, painting, and aimlessly wandering unexplored cities. 
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