WHY AREN’T Y’ALL DRIVING YOUR FRIENDS TO THE AIRPORT???
love is inconvenience waking up at 6am to drive your homegirl to court & all the way
back out to San Jose for the tacos she likes after sitting on the amtrak for a nightpointfive
running across the DFW airport in heeled boots on the cheapest layover you could
find is asking is waiting unnecessarily in the car until she is inside
is Huong & their grown out fade Victoria’s babydoll dresses & pineapple CBD
cigarettes tobacco makes her head hurt love is lifegiving & I am made of every girl
who lent me shoes Kavya w/ her wide smile & raven hair always pressing me to eat
Nina & her lipstick pink as tendon watching a movie starring a Hutcherson with our legs
tangled together gossiping over mint tea our laughter like a screen door in spring
DINNER AT PAPA RON’S, JULY 22, 2024
in my calzone i request Canadian bacon sundried tomatoes basil artichokes & mushrooms & my
friend is assured of herself 26 & less afraid & growing into their short cut & it shows in their posture
their toothy smile & the person they’re in love with for now is symmetrical to her lanky & wearing
comfortable Reeboks & I watch them argue the definition of prehistoric over garlic bread & we discuss
our favorite books while the pizza takes too long he explains to me what chaplains do & the waitress is
Southern gorgeous all sparkly pink eyeshadow & Sewanee accent & her three ear piercings are dotted
with studs in the color of the flag
$40 BEIGE RICO NASTY TEE
Huong & their ravenous love for life their smile warmer than Henny their sideways wink it’s
August & the antidepressants are working I beam in my dress rife with abrasions slices of my
hips & ribs shining from the slits I bruise so easy & it’s almost the end of summer you can taste it
on everyone’s voices & Huong has a way of making me playful again teasing me into venturing out
of the new apartment we christen the bathroom with smoke we each have pleasant conversations
with our mothers over the phone gossip about the church daughters like we aren’t them
outside sirens ring but the fire isn’t us & Huong has a way of admitting things that makes you
want to love them they explain how to cook a seafood boil without letting the corn dry out
we talk about our mothers & they’re more women than ghosts & we’re more boys than
daughters grinning & walking slow at the Kehlani concert we worship at her outfit the color
of slate while surrounded by other church daughters when we finally get back home all we need is
the washed sheets the gray camp chair on the balcony the quasi-quiet of insects at night
our merch cost $50 & the train was late but most things can be fixed if you put a little Old Bay on it
PHLEBOTOMY OF A NOUN
the yellow phonebook & my mother’s
skin was papery & my recently departed
uncle was frisked in LAX. (he didn’t
die, he just left.) I was young!
bored & lovely but mostly young.
I was young & I was lying down.
WHAT IS A COUNTRY BUT A BORDERLESS SENTENCE
but my aunts love Montreal
its groceries full of women with kohled eyes the instructor
complimenting their French all its snow & four layers of socks
they bundle their children into scarves tug the Arabic
from their mouths teach each to speak good my oldest
cousin cleans compulsively Crystal
I watch her organize pillows in the shape of the apartment in
Damascus she is my mother’s favorite quiet eyes to the brim with
cotton the women here never spill
I WANNA BE AN UNCLE WHEN I GROW UP
we smoke on your balcony & joke about girls,
the kitchens we’d hide in. we share beers &
butter chicken & tangerine juice, the overpriced
sunset, & Palos Verdes is a wide, aromatic dream,
sidewalk hissing with salt. you advise me on
proper date etiquette & introduce me to 3arak.
you reassure me I haven’t ruined my life yet.
you reheat our favorite paella & set up the pillows
on the end of the sofa so we have back support.
we’re always fighting something where our
spine meets the femur. we chose each other,
you & I. we debate which sugary drink to dam
our bellies with. it’s Sunday & we’re watching
the Office & I say I like Sprite the best it makes
me feel like I’m a hummingbird. your slow
breathing, your level voice after dinner. your hand
ruffling the top of my head while you laugh.
PLEASURE IS DATA
a summer Wednesday & my roommates & I drive out to Berkeley visit Nina in her historic house
w/ the wide balcony the trampoline responsible for her roommate’s twisted ACL connive over mango
Ices discuss solutions for anemia Aquarius rights & the ratio of tops to bottoms & though we outgrew
this discourse in 2012 we still sing Frank Ocean’s riff on She her & her friends are still freshmen
& haven’t had their gender crisis yet that’s for us the oldheads in skinny jeans & rope chains we say Nina’s
neighborhood feels haunted she says probably & my polyester sundress has been praying over my skin for
six hours Gati is wearing thrifted Karen Millen but for now she is warm & a little drunk but not so drunk
that she is worried about her hair & the July has been making her skin glow earlier in the afternoon we'd
shared a cig outside the Redwood City McDonald's but it was July & the air was so damn hot & we were
more thirsty than afraid the pregame is late & Nina’s apartment is crowded with girls in miniskirts & baggy
Carhartts & we’re a morass lashes drunk with sweat there was a tear in Gati’s trouser seam I traced with
my teeth there is no Arab mermaid unaware of the sound of a Crusader’s laugh what I mean is war is the
death of awe (among other women) Soju spills off the dining table the liquor makes our cheeks a livid
pink a woman approaches my name diluvian in her mouth compliments my orange pressons they were
her high school color & did I know I was dangerous? she turns my palms over in her hands but it’s
Wednesday night the set is perfect the mojitos suck the neighborhood’s bloomed/corroding & Nina’s lacy
tank top makes her look resurrected
