Emily Brink, USA
ex-boyfriend always played a certain video game, using a specific
character, when he was mad at me.
He said her character reminded him of me. Watch China Girl do the splits!
Watch China Girl do the kicks!
He’d escape into his own little world, just him at the controls.
I want to free her, show her the world out here.
Xue flees the screen before dawn; her name means snow.
Xue rows a boat down a labrynthine path into the San Francisco Bay.
She makes a birthday cake of snow, lights bare twigs for candles.
Where are your opponents, Xue? No one left to fight but your own dragons.
Are all enemies illusions manufactured to distract you from your center?
In the other world, there were only statistics, how many fights you won
or lost. Winning was the only objective.
Xue now drifts silently among the crowd, a snowflake.
weaving through his dreams
no hands at the loom
Brink is a twenty-six year old poet and short story writer. She has
a B.A in modern literature from the University of California, Santa
Cruz. Emily enjoys nature walking and writing haiku. She lives in the
2005: Simply Haiku