My daughter dies in a garden where
a wrought iron pergola swims
amongst Nefertiti’s soldiers.

Summer styrofoam crumbles as
cherry lacquer binds my ankles,
braided crabgrass finds false gold,
a four-paneled triptych whistles alone
to notes of entropy.

Shallow spores groan when
winter tucks her ephemeral chin, proud
of smothered love and
feminist confetti and
bedridden believers in Shiva.

Sometimes even sacrament swings in stone
and Roman gravity has ten rings
but the statues know better.

Pharaoh reaps what Sunday sows
and I fear the mundane
but marry the jester.

Nick Lam (he/him) is a senior in Columbia College majoring in Urban Studies and minoring in Computer Science. He loves the city. You can find him on Instagram.