Kenji C. Liu
Lush empty,
a map for battle.
In the blue undergrowth,
no wife, no songs, no daughters.
What part do you see first,
o conquering flora,
my step-republic, or my landscape
clothed in sky, not mine?
You undress me by the light
of rifle, sweat, radio.
My bare flag unfolds for you.
Your victory, a terrible beautiful.
My skin, not chrysanthemum.
But orchid cuffs, broken toe of moss.
Between conquerors,
how beautiful the clothed are.
But I am thumb, heel, tendon.
I am fauna.