Isabella Jiang

Cover image: Will Thompson | @wilbeurt


I find myself clinging still. Over and over over

   dreaming that soft dream where i grow, to something 

beautiful, become something hazy & wild. 


The truth is/ I am not Curie, not Circe-

not Jean d’Arc, fierce & clever,

arm raised in her fever of revelation,

blinding sun like a holy crown

at her back. 


But I can  

make a living of these hands. 

These gifts that i have been given so freely.

The kisses, each one like a blessing. The belief,

each truth given to me like a child. I am

to the bursting

    all weed heart,

    overgrown & loved.


I have no need of a paper immortality;

no need of scholars scrutinising the way 

the bones of my little finger crooks in 

a little too far. 


I am no blesséd, but blessed enough.

I am no god, but holy enough.