Sam Roxas-Chua

MY BRUSH IS A STETHOSCOPE: A POET’S ATTEMPT AT AN ARTIST’S STATEMENT

We turn, pause, look back, and wave.

  -Li Po

I was told I was born at sunset, half-past the infusion hours of memory into turmeric. I was told I was born blue on the lips, my mother’s milk was nowhere to be found. No trace of white lights or rivers, no names to call to when time arrests flesh. No equal, no passport, no pebble, fish or guide. I was told I was born at sunset, between the theaters of day turning into night—those vapored hours of the abalone listening for the sun’s last instruction. This is what was said: A boy made from bleed disappears at night. He dreams in filaments in search of light. I was told I was born at sunset, there were news reports of whales beached outside the hospital, their mouths held slices of the sun in them, their eyes of wet black pules—blinking in February.

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Sam Roxas-Chua is the author of Saying Your Name Three Times Underwater, Echolalia in Script, and Fawn Language. Poet Tyehimba Jess describes Roxas-Chua’s work in this way: “Surreal yet rooted in palpable color and history, this poet’s vision transcends oceans, blends geographies and bleeds a multi- tongued heritage for us to better find ourselves. We need more maps like this in the world, and cartographers of language like Sam.” His poems and artwork have appeared in journals including Narrative, December, Cream City Review, and The Missouri Review. Interviews, essays, and reviews of his work appear in Rhino Poetry, The Georgia Review, and various literary radio and podcast shows. He lives in Eugene, Oregon.