they told me to travel

when I’m older.

I think they didn’t know
that moving through someone else’s ordinary
creates the lens through which I see.

if aging is about growing
this is how I grow:

across difference
uprooting what was once cemented
with us and them.


the first time you see me

I won’t have make up on

I’ll probably be wearing my glasses

you probably won’t notice me

till the third time we talk

I’ll notice

the way you

listened first

I might be the first one to

ask you out

you might be

the first one

to say yes

Did you see

the glow-in-the-dark balloon

floating its way up into the night sky?

It took its place among the stars until it

// popped.

It’s latex bits never making their way back home

getting caught in the frenzy of the atmosphere. If I were a child,

I would have cried.

But they say I’m just too old for that. So I keep

a salt water ocean

behind my eyes

// hoping

the current

will one day find

its way // home again.


there’s something strangely


about the deep roll of thunder


when you’re inside.

i think they call it the sublime.


sweat, er.. weather

would this sweater be too much?

it’s just to take advantage of the cold to

wear something

i can stretch out in / snuggle into. even if i keep the fan on like

a mountain breeze.

i miss… / that

we try to talk without really saying

much of anything, we talk around

things, even though

(there is so much) i want to… (express). we try not to since

i think, someone once told us

there is a line here. they told us

it looks like a tripwire. we never checked,

why is that line here? it looks like a puppet


let me put on my sweater.


she sat

in the shallow water, pushed about

by the waves like

a bowling pin doll, heavy

on the bottom.

she didn’t like

how it made her feel

unstable. she wondered

if it was a



little hands

they fold newspaper hats

in the street, in the night.

daydreams carried by upside down boats,

after the light.

they’d build them into a lifeline,

if given the chance.