Alex Fang

Summer 2025 | Poetry

Self-Portrait as a Sentence

Forgetting itself,

 

the sentence starts               again

            in a different tongue,

above                          a drawer of

Schrödinger’s roaches,

           trying to remember where

next to go but

        thinking it best to first

fill                                the drawer

            with some more

letters, so

 

off                           the sentence

goes, plodding

                    through lectures and

seminars, by dark eaves-

                dropping on characters

                        facing away

from the shot, rubbing itself

against idle                        chatter

            about town, nodding

                 at jokes it just does not

                                   get, turning

around             to repeat them

            anyway, dreaming      

                                    in the back

         of a cab that they

did land, a-

 

waking                       the morning

after able to answer

            the telephone,    able

to pass as a longer sentence

            in fact,

regurgitating                  hypotactic

            scraps, replete

with synthetic

                       opinions, closet full

of Latinate locutions

             but nothing to wear,

always scurrying

 

by                    mirrors, wondering

if it counts                 as one

            sentence all the

same, identifying as

                        mirror, yet

often still responding

             in earnest to

                     “how are you”s that                   

    have             already

walked  

 

past,                  no chance to edit,

      years later

just              slouching along,

 stretching              long and thin,

                        moving funny,

swaths of letters

            spelling but a simulacrum,

                        and in the

vertigo it                 imagines

                            itself forgetting

again,

 

starting                         out where

            it first did,

                       on a woman’s back,

falling

            because mom        slipped

on a piece of water-

                        melon rind; it

heard her                          cry out

in Mandarin.

Alex Fang is a lawyer and poet based in Brooklyn. She is a graduate of Columbia Journalism School and Harvard Law School, and the translator of a new edition of Shen Fu’s Six Records of a Floating Life (Printim Editions, 2025) from classical Chinese.

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