poetry
Hatching
like the emptiness above the Midwest
we can say Martha into.
No one
grieves for passenger pigeons;
the page
grows a little whiter.
Friend, if it’s true we’re made
not of atoms
but stories, then let this
be a headwater
and fold me
into syrinx.
About the Author
Chris Santiago is the author of Tula, winner of the 2016 Lindquist & Vennum Prize for Poetry, selected by A. Van Jordan. His poems, fiction, and criticism have appeared in FIELD, Copper Nickel, Pleiades, and the Asian American Literary Review. He holds degrees in creative writing and music from Oberlin College and received his PhD in English from the University of Southern California. The recipient of fellowships from Kundiman and the Mellon Foundation/American Council of Learned Societies, Santiago is also a percussionist and amateur jazz pianist. He teaches literature, sound culture, and creative writing at the University of St. Thomas. He lives in Minnesota.