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Timothy Liu


  • Politics February 23, 2001

    Little Elegy in G Minor

    A box of Chopin nocturnes handed down
    from the other side of my mother's death--
    evening gowns in trash bags making a little
    Golgotha of their own right in the corner
    of that studio we had spent all morning
    emptying out--uncandled cold chaperoned
    through the sill. Lullabies all of us had
    already heard while drinks kept going round
    the parlor after her wake assembled now
    into makeshift history--bits of tenderness
    discarded down the cosmos slide, each night
    a phantom limb, the hours trapezing over
    that sea of anonymous faces where sidereal
    glances scale up the piano's mirrored lid.

    Timothy Liu