Ann Huang is an author, poet, and filmmaker based in Newport Beach, Southern California. She was born in Mainland, China and raised in Mexico and the U.S. World literature and theatrical performances became dominating forces during her linguistic training at various educational institutions. Huang possesses a unique global perspective of the past, present, and future of Latin America, the United States, and China. She is an MFA candidate from the Vermont College of Fine Arts and has authored one chapbook and three poetry collections. Her surrealist poem “Night Lullaby,” was a Ruth Stone Poetry Prize finalist. “Crustacea” another of her surrealist poems, was nominated Best of the Net in Priestess & Hierophant. In addition, Huang’s book-length poetry collection, Saffron Splash, was a finalist in the CSU Poetry Center’s Open Book Poetry Competition. Her newest poetry collection, A Shaft of Light, is set to come out in 2019.
Imagined Life
To wrap your eyes up and close
Under a spot of our moon,
To straighten and to sing
Till the dark night has come
Now run at warm morning
Upon a small hill
While day goes by swiftly,
Bright like you—
That is your imagined life!
To wrap your eyes up and close
Under a spot of our moon,
Sing! Swirl!
Till the dark night has come.
Run at warm morning
A small, ample hill
Day going swiftly
Bright like you!
Stars
You see that you should know
Poems meaningful as stars.
Stars whose energy blink is reign
upon the galaxy’s swirling milky-way;
Stars that wander at humans all night long
And bow lingering eyes to watch over them;
Stars that exist only in wintry cities
A funnel of holiday lights in between their toes;
Against whose shadow their light has shone;
Who publicly dance in and about the snow.
Poems are not taken by folks like you,
And Goddesses rear stars as if their own.