poetry
spring/summer 2019
The upstairs is cluttered:
a collection of hangers,
two standing speakers,
& both rice cookers.
​
I am called upon for help,
for biceps flexing. To assist
my father in bringing down
the furniture they saved.
​
This speaker has been here since
before your birth. Karaoke
nights were lullabies
towards your mother’s womb.
​
I brought this speaker home
byway of a classmate of mine.
They bought the speaker
but then sold it for tuition.
​
This speaker was used
in 1994— the Rockets won
their first championship:
you, a good luck fetus.
I remember drinking til’
the Cognac seeped into
the apartment below us.
I hoped they welcomed the drip.
That night, the city grew
more highways. The skyline
glowed like your mother.
The speaker echoed applause.
It rained during the parade
and we knew what wet
would do. The splashes felt
nice without any ocean salt.
​
I bought you your first
jersey the next day—
three months before
you were a happy accident.
​
Hakeem (‘The Dream”),
Clyde, Horry, Maxwell —
A legacy passed on
to you, my loyal son.
Save the Furniture, Not Yourself
by Joshua Nguyen
Photo: A young Joshua Nguyen and his sister.
Courtesy of Joshua Nguyen.
Due to its format, please view this poem on a desktop computer.
Joshua Nguyen is a Kundiman Fellow, collegiate national poetry champion (CUPSI), and a native Houstonian. He has been published in The Offing, The Acentos Review, Rambutan Literary, Button Poetry, The Texas Review, Gulf Coast, and Hot Metal Bridge. He is currently an MFA candidate at The University of Mississippi. He is a bubble tea connoisseur and works in a kitchen.