JUSTIN EVANS—"AFTER READING THE POEMS OF TADA CHIMAKO" (Issue 26)

Sugar House Review · Justin Evans' "After Reading the Poems of Tada Chimako"

AFTER READING THE POEMS OF TADA CHIMAKO

Pine trees announce their death shedding 

all their needles— spending their reserves 

like a child’s allowance 

New forest growth requires decades of patience 

waiting for rot to break away from the canopy, 

letting sunlight rest on the ground 

and sometimes it takes fire 

In my dreams I forget my own name while 

running a maze in the darkened dirty streets of Paris 

until I wake in a stranger’s bed 

These things are the same 

nothing dividing one from the other 

all answering to the same name

ABOUT THE POET 

Justin Evans was born and raised in Utah. He served in the Army and returned to 

Utah for his education. For the past two decades, he has lived in rural Nevada with 

his wife and sons where he teaches at the local high school. He is the author of ten 

books of poetry. Most recently are Cross Country (Wordtech, 2019), written with 

the poet Jeff Newberry, and All The Brilliant Ideas I've Ever Had (Kelsay Books, 

2020). In early 2022, Justin was awarded an artist fellowship from The Nevada 

Arts Council.

ABOUT SUGAR HOUSE REVIEW 

We loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), and we want an 

opportunity to better hear our contributors. We're featuring audio recordings of 

poems from our pages, read by the poet. This an open invitation to all contributors 

from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to 

hear it.

SEAN CHO A.—A CUBE WHO IS GROWING. AND GROWING UNSURE OF HIMSELF. #8" (Issue 26)

Sugar House Review · Sean Cho A's "A Cube Who Is Growing. And Growing Unsure of Himself. #8"

A CUBE WHO IS GROWING. AND GROWING UNSURE OF HIMSELF. #8

mid april: thirty five degrees. in the absence of clouds:

the sun is showing even it has limits. two young lovers

hold bare hands beside the lake: ignoring the logic of 

pockets. we've already shown our appreciation for pockets. 

holding everything we hold so dear that we must bring it 

along. didn't know what to give them for a gift: yesterday's 

dinner mints stink-y-ing in the heat: a case study the limitations

of objections/the space between object and the representative thank 

you. it's a thankless job. not unlike the jobs of all the other 

object-things. the screams of the june grass/the farm cat 

who wished to never go inside. on the day that a mouth emerges

from the vased-daylily we will have a new language to learn. 

i imagine i'm sorry & thank you will get all tangled up on our tongues. 

ABOUT THE POET 

Sean Cho A. is the author of American Home (Autumn House 2021) winner of 

the Autumn House Press chapbook contest. His work can be future found or 

ignored in Copper Nickel, Prairie Schooner, The Massachusetts Review, Nashville 

Review, among others. Sean is a graduate of the MFA program at The University 

of California Irvine and a PhD Student at the University of Cincinnati. He is the 

editor in chief of The Account. 

ABOUT SUGAR HOUSE REVIEW 

We loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), and we want an 

opportunity to better hear our contributors. We're featuring audio recordings of 

poems from our pages, read by the poet. This an open invitation to all contributors 

from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to 

hear it.