Bitch, plucked the longest strands and held the roots till smoke rose

Bitch, plucked the longest strands and held the roots till smoke rose

Bitch, burned the fruit of the scalpel, acres of land encompassed in flame

Bitch, bowed before the fire and called it becoming

Bitch, said pain meant progress

Bitch, caught flame in the name of approval

Bitch, praised the fire that undid mirrors and frames

Bitch, spread the ash like makeup, smiled and saluted the heat

Bitch, juggled through the fiery circus rings and wooden splinters

Bitch, aimed and threw fiery plastics at the cool blue marine flag

Bitch, saw the glow, mistook it for freedom

Bitch, still burns like it should

Gabriel Kang is a poet whose work interrogates hunger, inheritance, and the quiet violences that shape intimacy, family, and identity. His poems often braid domestic imagery with moral tension, exploring how love can fracture into consumption, silence, and grief. Through precise lineation and restrained lyricism, his writing resists sentimentality while remaining emotionally direct. Kang’s work is informed by his background in competitive rock climbing and creative writing, disciplines that demand both control and risk. This influence appears formally in his poetry through compression, physical imagery, and an attention to pressure—what the body carries, endures, and gives way to.

His poems frequently examine the cost of survival, particularly within immigrant households, where love and necessity are often indistinguishable. He is currently a student at Ruth Asawa School of the Arts in San Francisco, where his work has been developed through workshops, public readings, and literary analysis of contemporary and canonical poets. His writing engages with themes of violence, care, appetite, and moral inheritance, often using animal and food imagery as recurring motifs to expose power dynamics within relationships.