Although they say smoke merely makes bees drunk,
I’m worried what might happen to the Notre Dame hives if they lose their
queen.

Shuang Ang’s “American Lessons,” read by the poet. Part of a brief selection of poetry from Epiphany’s Fall/ Winter 2019 issue.

Soaping up hairy legs is like bathing horses. With my fingers on the foamy plush of my calf, I remember my grandfather Alberto’s horses."

The other day, the tyrant said, hate has
no place in our country, while naming the
wrong city where the tragedy occurred,
and I thought: Is man no more than this.

Should I pretend
the desire was new? The list of girls I still
want to be is mental.

Careful not to curse him with my
scent, I unravel the vine.
He does not scurry off.