Phin as a Resting Ground
Thoughts simmer as each droplet splashes
by Alissa Tu
a tbs of coffee seeps through slits. Expired grounds kept fresh in saran &
mason jars. Boiling water singes the gibraltar. Metal crackles
like fire. Vietnamese travels from the living room
into the kitchen. (Đêm nay ai đưa em về.) Winter
sunlight seeps through bamboo slits.
Thoughts simmer as each droplet splashes
into the rocks glass. Đường khuya sao trời lấp lánh
— Let the phin quietly keep time. Stamp out the brown slivers, pour
water with the utmost gentleness. Watch as childhood deteriorates
into suburbs, ask what it means to be gentrified here
but a gentrifier there. Pause. Each drop
Đêm nay ai đưa em về
a parcel of potential energy.
can one understand a motherland as manufactured nostalgia? when
will a stranger’s uncomfortable stare transform into violence? what
are the ways to reckon with systems beyond one’s reach? where
is the tender point to unleash anger on a world that doesn’t want you? why
chậm và
chắc.
A meditation / reminder / comfort
as coffee
catalyzes into existential vapor.
the phin as (chậm và chắc)
an object that transports
from present & past & future. a resting
(chậm
và
chắc)
ground for revolution.
Alissa Tu (she/her) is a Vietnamese American Fire Rat. Born and raised in Olympia, Washington, she hails her MFA in Writing from the University of California San Diego. Her debut memoir Confessions of a Modern Day Kumiho (2023) was published with Blue Cactus Press, and her work can be found in Fruitslice Zine, Honey Literary, The Asian American Writers’ Workshop, and diaCRITICs. If she could be reincarnated as an animal, she’d choose to be a rat. You can find her on Instagram as heyalissa or alissatu.com.
