Summer Elegy
Ivi Hua | Poetry, Fall 2026
The drivers’ side window. The sun slipping away like a fish.
My desire to leave a continued lament. Smoke mirrored
in the ray of light. The church steeple like an arrow.
My love / fly true. The way I feel about you moves me
to tears. Fog settling over the hill. I am drawing all the lines
I can name. I am the contortion of a small cell. Nobody wants
to ask to be understood. Until they wail into incomprehensibility.
Until the car swerves and the headlights blow out. I am watching
my heart die with my body intact. Tell the god of forgiveness there is a knife
below my fourth rib. Tell him I tried my hardest with all the sweetness—
The engine was running so smoothly. The plums,
golden and near-bursting, were nestled into the trunk.
I can still remember the taste of the strawberries. Like the ripple
of bright water. Like cool air slipping through the vents.
______________________________________
Why is this piece your Trace Fossil?
“It is made clear in the title that this poem mourns a season that flared bright and ended quickly. Through tracing the taste of fresh berries and the devastation of killed headlights, I made this poem a trace fossil of what it was like to live through those moments. In this piece, a lover is a wound, the god of forgiveness is a silent creature, and memory leaves its mark on every word.”
Ivi Hua is an Asian-American writer, dreamer, & poet. She is the author of Body, Dissected (kith books, 2024). She co-founded Young Poets Workshops in 2022 & serves as co-director of the SUNHOUSE Mentorship. Ivi believes in the initiation of change through language & love beyond the bounds of sorrow.
Summer Elegy
Ivi Hua | Poetry, Fall 2026
Please view on desktop for the intended line spacing.
The drivers’ side window. The sun slipping away like a fish.
My desire to leave a continued lament. Smoke mirrored
in the ray of light. The church steeple like an arrow.
My love / fly true. The way I feel about you moves me
to tears. Fog settling over the hill. I am drawing all the lines
I can name. I am the contortion of a small cell. Nobody wants
to ask to be understood. Until they wail into incomprehensibility.
Until the car swerves and the headlights blow out. I am watching
my heart die with my body intact. Tell the god of forgiveness there is a knife
below my fourth rib. Tell him I tried my hardest with all the sweetness—
The engine was running so smoothly. The plums,
golden and near-bursting, were nestled into the trunk.
I can still remember the taste of the strawberries. Like the ripple
of bright water. Like cool air slipping through the vents.
______________________________________
Why is this piece your Trace Fossil?
“It is made clear in the title that this poem mourns a season that flared bright and ended quickly. Through tracing the taste of fresh berries and the devastation of killed headlights, I made this poem a trace fossil of what it was like to live through those moments. In this piece, a lover is a wound, the god of forgiveness is a silent creature, and memory leaves its mark on every word.”
Ivi Hua is an Asian-American writer, dreamer, & poet. She is the author of Body, Dissected (kith books, 2024). She co-founded Young Poets Workshops in 2022 & serves as co-director of the SUNHOUSE Mentorship. Ivi believes in the initiation of change through language & love beyond the bounds of sorrow.