The Cabin

I fancy the ancient sunset outside the cracked wooden doors,

Ever so faintly, it paints a crimson tint on the sea;

I fancy the sound of chimes of the bulky, antiquated clock

And the tantalizing aroma of the flowering trees,

Blue wisteria, actually, from the porch and down the block.


I fancy the green swordtails in the fish tank that I

Never have to feed, always afraid that I’d spill the water

Onto the rough datura-print carpet my mother really like;

The crystal ball on the fine-carved side table made from timber,

Oh yes, I fancy that too, full of powers saintlike.


I fancy the silence in the room as night falls,

The light reflecting from the glass cup filled with tangerine liquid,

And the potted prickly pear cactus that stung me once. 

Even the broken candle jar, I fancy it, though the floor looks wicked,

A scent of brown sugar and fig, with melted wax spread across in muss.


I fancy the fragmented voices in my body,

And the secrets that rise in the process of rebuilding.

Still, I adore the felted joy in agony

As I watch the blue jay outdoor sing.


Biographical Note: Vicky Jiang is a junior studying at New York University. Despite being a math major, her life is saturated with passion for art and creative writing. She loves to tell stories, listen to Lo-Fi while scribbling in her journal, and observe others on subway rides. Vicky hopes to continue writing so that she can deliver her messages to the world.