Jen Mei Soong
Fault Line
Megan Kim
Northridge-relic: the piano
on which I learned to read
the language of time and
decibel. A faulty leg
which wobbled with use,
scarring of a seismic
strike that expanded as myth
in my mind: apartments
like accordions collapsing,
motorcyclist off the highway
who didn’t see it ending
where once it had gone on.
In my nightmares
the floor of my school opens
like a mollusk. I toe
the chasm edge. Loss
is not tamed by rhythm,
though we can predict it
like the click of the metronome,
returning and returning.
My fingers fly scales
over ivory tabs that once,
without human touch,
shook and sang out
in the night.
on which I learned to read
the language of time and
decibel. A faulty leg
which wobbled with use,
scarring of a seismic
strike that expanded as myth
in my mind: apartments
like accordions collapsing,
motorcyclist off the highway
who didn’t see it ending
where once it had gone on.
In my nightmares
the floor of my school opens
like a mollusk. I toe
the chasm edge. Loss
is not tamed by rhythm,
though we can predict it
like the click of the metronome,
returning and returning.
My fingers fly scales
over ivory tabs that once,
without human touch,
shook and sang out
in the night.
Megan Kim is a poet from Southern Oregon. Her debut chapbook is forthcoming with New Delta Review, and her work has appeared in Narrative Magazine, Sycamore Review, Ninth Letter, and The Adroit Journal, among others. She is the editor of Frontier Poetry and holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of Wisconsin-Madison.