This Way to the Sugar

by Hieu Minh Nguyen

Overview

A blade and a microscope to nostalgia, tradition, race, apology, and sexuality, in order to find beauty in a flawed world.
Hieu Nguyen's work has been described as "an astounding testament to the power and necessity of confession." This bruising collection of poems asks whether it might be better "to leave the blade inside the body," or whether "forgiveness will bleed you thin."

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781938912443
Publisher:	Write Bloody Publishing
Publication date:	04/01/2014
Pages:	100
Product dimensions:	5.30(w) x 8.30(h) x 0.30(d)

About the Author

Hieu Nguyen is a poet and performer from St. Paul, MN. He has represented Minneapolis/St. Paul at the National Poetry Slam, where his team ranked 5th in the nation in 2011, and at the Brave New Voices festival. He also co-coached the 2011 University of Minnesota poetry slam team and the 2010 Minneapolis/Saint Paul youth slam team. Hieu's work has been featured in publications such as PANK, decomP Magazine, andThe Legendary.

Read an Excerpt

GIANT SAINT EVERYTHING

There were days I wanted out.
But then you would go and do things like dive into the Vancouver ocean,
big brilliant cliché poem that you are,
water rolling off your back as you swam toward a sunset that hung like a sacred recipe painted all the way around your holy head.

And then there were the ways you watched me moving back into my cave where the wheels turn,
same wheels that drove you off.

I should have told you before talking in terms of forever that any given day wears me out and works me sour,
that there are nights when the sky is so clear
I stand obnoxious underneath it begging for the stars to shoot me just so I can feel at home.

What’s left of you now is a shrine built from the pieces I kept of your presence,
your incredible stretch of presence. It sits in our room like a sandpiper, cross-legged and crying remembering the night we met and the day you left and the Light shifting in between.

By the side of it stands a picture of the poem where I promised you will never have another lonely holiday.

The words I promise and forever begged me not to use them but sometimes I don’t listen to God so you can imagine how much it hurt to let your last birthday pass with no word. On August third you weren’t the only one comin’ up lonesome. Listen

if I had to make a list of everything everywhere the very last to-do on that infinite list of every single thing would be to hurt you

so I need you to know that in an attempt to keep my promise
I did write a letter to you on your birthday.

It was covered in stickers of flock-printed stars,
choir claps and a bonfire of buttercups stuck in the air but when I finally drew enough courage to send you all the love in the world, my hand snapped off in the mailbox from clenching.

It was returned to me with a gospelstitch, a hope stamp and a note etched into the palm I had to pry open with the pressure of pitching doves reminding me we agreed to let each other go.

There is a point when tears don’t work to wash things away anymore.
Grabbing for breath has broken my fingers.
I miss you so much some days
I beg for the airplane to crash with just enough time in the free fall for scribbling I love you across my chest.

That way, when they find my burning breast plate,
they will tell you how the very last thing I did with my life was call out your name.

Arnold Remond Liesting

I know your momma didn’t raise a sissy so it's best if I believe that you’ve bounced