I rub ice cubes on my face in the morning

when it is swollen from soy sauce

or bad dreams or no sleep. The water beneath

my skin is thick like jelly, yellow & responsive

to touch. I lose track of the bones. I want the

It’s one year later & I still feel you on my shoulders,

breathing vulnerability onto my tender neck.

Two bodies wrapped in desire,

like silver paper, on Christmas.

We breathe each other & call it air.

You say survival, I say

  how everything had a name in the tender white light
                                fracturing over our pliant limbs, tangled
           against car seats saturated with smoke,
                            silence calcifying in the negative space of our ribs.

To go outside I don a mask / the size of a human heart. / It’s become the law now. A turn in the wind / brings back Beijing: snow of pollen adrift, radioactive-yellow / cremation of God. In short, what you get / when too many boys love to burn.

After Jericho Brown

Like a good fisherman, I read the water.

I can’t afford to miss a ripple in the current.

            Past and future form ripples in the current,

            whirling turned leaves in a merciless circle.

After 《木兰辞》, first transcribed ca. 500 CE

translate: to carry from one state to another, as Enoch was translated, that is, carried to heaven without dying [1]

crest of my shoulder
fold of my thigh
my right collarbone
is stickier than my left

heather grey shirt
glommed to the small of my back
the armpits
always the armpits
advertising to all
“heat was here”

Bony fingers whipping, winding, wrinkling ‘cross my scalp
Heat near ears - don’t do it - yep, she’s scalded me
“Girl, don’t wail like that!” Popped with comb
Wince and whine, smile inside - aunties like this are rare
No they’re not, dime a dozen, priceless

I stop some where waiting for you…. Yet you pretend I have gone!

I’ve scattered my ellipses like breadcrumbs in a public park.

It is 7:32 p.m.… I take refuge in your neck, my ear pressed close to your apple,

Back when I yearn to scrape you clean of seeds.

our fingers fly across black and white keys like
sparrows / rhythms of muscle memory echoing
across the table tops // inside, you are wells of blue
deeper than the Mariana Trench / clouded over
with gray brushstrokes where smears of lavender

Society’s noose fed the rope around my neck
Teaching me to hate the things I used to love about myself
Whispering that maybe I deserve to be strung up and forgotten

a cherry

a seemingly harmless
red, round fruit

you pop the whole thing
in your mouth

bite down on the
soft sweet juicy pulp

then suddenly
you reach the middle
expecting the soft flesh
you get a solid pit

This summer I took some chances while listening to Chance the Rapper because I liked the beat
But listened to Kendrick when I wanted some street poetry
Some urban poetry
From poets who grew up in suburban towns with an urban state of mind

There once was a girl named Sarah
But no one knew her name.
“Loser!” the prissy, perfect girls screeched.
The word sang in her ears.
Silence.

overland park
kansas
usa
earth
milky way

am i supposed to call this home?
i live here
but it isn’t home.

constantly muttering to yourself
a constant hum in the back of your head.
carrying conversations with the walls around you
this is normal mom,
leave me alone mom,
I want to eat in my room tonight mom,
I can’t talk right now mom.
buzz-buzz, buzz-buzz

Born into the place I despise.
Growing in the green,
not seeing what could be.
Suffocating siblings,
pets galore,
always wanting more.

A little spot in the heartland,
A little spot in your heart.
Where families are created,
And legacies carry on.
Where meals are around a table,
And the front of a fridge is your trophy case.
Where names are recycled,
And recipes stay secret.

Warm evenings -
a slight breeze with the scent of smoked ham
and cornbread for dinner.
BROWN BODIES come out when the streetlights do
FOR FEAR OF BEING SEEN,
dancing and singing to Motown.
Turning bodies into wine
too sweet to taste.

His shoulders are square;
But they are not shoulders.
They are the sharp corners
Of heavily bound volumes
Whose covers are pristine.

Dreams become actions
impossible becomes possible
it’s what I love to do
becoming focused on my goals
reaching those limits
passing the bar
once I get a new idea
I go with it
I don’t give up
I would like to change the world

I smile when people ask if I’m all right
But inside I’m screaming and aching
I feel as if my world is an act
I act my smiling when
I want to kick and thrash everything around me
I act my laughing when I want to cry

Shhh. Be quiet and search inside. Maybe you’ll find what makes you unique.

The rustic smell and the crisp turn of the pages let me live out my dreams. They inspire me. They are the fairy tales, and let me escape from life. Then I finish them. And I am devastated. But they complete me, and interest me.

Who feels…like nothing is impossible when you try hard enough. Like dreams are never just dreams. Like life is a blank sheet of paper and, everyone writes their own story.Who wants…To do something that goes beyond herself.

We’re just dancing,
partying,
smiling. Having

Fun

For once in our lives;
being ourselves, knowing
no one can judge us. It

Is

I wish…
I could run like an Olympian
I could draw without restrictions
I could dance like nobody is watching
I could sing as pretty as a mockingbird
I wish…
I could be a world traveler

Reading should never just be
considered an option.
A life without reading, not
understanding words, only
spots on a page, with the power
to change worlds, but they’re
dead without a voice, no meaning
till they’re read.

Full-grown Harlem lady
Eyes as black as night
If caught in a situation
Her decision would be right

Full-grown Harlem lady
Welcomes every child
If one makes a wrong decision
They will be reconciled

I hate putting my family through pain
If I could wrong my rights I would be sane
Until that point I hang my head in shame

I wish not but blame myself

For what I did I know not
Help
They know I do have faith
Even though I’m in this deep dark place