We're grateful to Sun for taking the time to submit this Love Letter.
20260527_171905
My name is Sun, and I am the mother of Trent, who is currently an 11th-grade Basis Oro Valley high school student.
In 2008, as our family relocated from South Korea and settled in Tucson, we received truly immense assistance from Pima County Public Library. This support came in the form of numerous excellent programs, including free English classes, Storytime sessions, chess tournaments (such as "9 Queens"), and, most notably, the Summer Reading Program.
Since childhood, my son, Trent, has faithfully and consistently participated in every children's and youth program offered at every library branch throughout the Tucson area. From attending Storytime sessions at Woods Memorial Library to taking one-on-one reading classes at Martha Cooper Library, he has actively taken advantage of the diverse opportunities the library provides.
Thanks to these experiences, Trent has grown into a young man with a deep love for poetry and culture. Recently, a poem Trent wrote titled "And I Am the Desert" took second place in the 2026 Annual Youth Poetry Contest, hosted by the Arizona State Poetry Society (ASPS). In addition, his poems, “Road Down South” and “The Winds” have won in their May 2026 member contest.
His poems will be included in Sandcutters, the annual poetry anthology of the Arizona State Poetry Society, which is scheduled for publication around late December 2026.
To celebrate these achievements during Asian American Heritage Month, I supplemented the prize money my son received with my own personal funds and made a donation to the library via its website.
I hope that many more families in Pima County, just like mine, will be able to enjoy a life enriched by culture through the Pima Library programs.
Sincerely,
Sun
And I Am the Desert
by Trent L.
My spine grows sharper as the
Dusky, thin veneers of the moon
Set on my skin. It gnaws on me
As if it hasn’t taken enough
The palms are dried, their wrinkling
Bark coming off and spreading
On the city landscape
The hairs are becoming
Needles jutting out in the curtain
That has fallen so heavily
On us, our faces peeking
Through this sandy gossamer
Grain-cloth, ever cold in lonesome
A prickly pear like the sign
Of my post, my title as the dried
Thing standing on watch
Capped with the thin sprouts
Fiery and licking slowly the airs
Birthed from the winds. There are
Men and women walking,
Distant lantern lights on the dunes
And clay mounds in warpaint
They see me and hurry off
Yet counting their steps
In the path of the stars above,
And I am the desert
The graveyard of the pitifully
Powerful, the coffin of mountains
Ground down and smothered,
Pressed into the ocean
That has left me the scent
Of salt amidst the caverns,
And I am the first witness
Of the new Sun, its wings gathered
From furious and scattered dust
