I Sell Organosilanes to Fix the World

The rusted factory gate is closed,

an ulcered mouth.


The acrylic air spews

sour on my skin.


I clutch the sales kit like faith,

but no one has time for me.


If suffering can speak,

let it speak like a mother.


My life has just begun

to know its end—


Like a stone into a well, I will

make a sound.


This is my pledge

against the vast silence of my country.


After all, I’m also a poet; I live

among broken things.


One day, the world will be just fine

without me. But I won’t be


afraid as a June bug.

I will put down


my suit and say good morning

to the bone-white dawn.


A mind-room opens

in the shape of a book.


I see myself walking into it.

Aiden Heung (he/they) is a Chinese poet from a Tibetan autonomous town. Heung worked as a traveling salesman before moving to St. Louis. His debut, All There Is to Lose, won the 2024 Levis Prize and will be published in 2026.
TAGS
Poetry
Originally published:
April 2, 2025

Featured

Reading the Declaration of Independence as Holy Text

How the American creed emerged—and evolved—over 250 years

Writing

Unpublished journal entries

Searching for Seamus Heaney

What I found when I resolved to read him

You Might Also Like

Work


The Touch



Our Summer Issue

Two pieces by Annie Ernaux, including a print-exclusive essay. Plus a folio titled "What Was AI?" — with contributions from Sheila Heti, Lauren Oyler, Christopher Sorrentino, and others.
Buy This Issue