White Noise

so you sleep within me

like darkness my dawn could never

touch – dare not to speak out

or turn the TV off / my dad’s

asleep. oh. 

chopsticks snapped / that old house

your grandfather woke you out of a 

dream. since then, have you

ever slept? lemme breathe

on your collarbones / did i 

wake you up again

i’m sorry. it was me;

i turned off the TV

you wear my dad’s skin once

in a while, as if you’ve never 

gone to sleep,

and as he dragged his

body over the night’s thickest hours

i asked if he would leave again / my darling

please don’t cry anymore

your tears are creeping in my bones

i should have left the TV on – sorry

but i do love you.

white noise blasting

drown those kids on the street

patriarchal monotone reading today’s news

let’s get drunk before driving

then forgive you, darling / we can sit down

as the static swallows me 

and before you leave:

i love you,

and i loved you.

---

Ninh Khang Dang (he/they), born in Vinh Long and raised in Ho Chi Minh City, is a queer Saigonese artist based in Vancouver, Canada. Their artistic practices include poetry, songwriting, and vocal performance. While working on their undergraduate degree at The University of British Columbia (Vancouver), they are also a writer in residence of Collections of Transcience’s 2023-2024 Artist Residency Program.