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you turn me away from turning away,
which is a regretful way to say you
have seen my back more times than my face.

i say, keep me here, facing the way you face
because most of my life it has been like this,
which is to say that turning away almost
feels likes it's inherent and i can't help it
––i always look back.
        but my fear has always been greater than my hope.
and i am afraid of the softness of this moment,
afraid that if i turn to you, the moment will turn away from me
and my hands, and you will be lost forever in the depths
of all the things i left behind me.
yet, more often than not, i have wished to be more
wind than person,
to turn every which way without fear.
to turn and turn, again and again, until i no longer know
which way was forward and which way was back.


can i be lost like this or in such a way? i hardly know at all,
perhaps i already am, i hardly remember my face.

A white flourishing flower swirls
in my cup and forms the first curve of a beginning.

I am holding on to the end of your kite.
Running —throwing dust up in the air—
We are four years old, our age smaller than
the letters in our name.

Last summer i cut my hair shorter, it hit the
back of my neck like a memory, forgotten,
awoke from its sleep and spirals out into existence again.

Outside the peach trees shed their flowers
revealing fruit and i thought of candles and
wanted to be sun-kissed for the first time.

I remember writing our names in candle wax —that
summer on the balcony two letters swelter in the heat,
a brief history of wax pooled at our feet —I felt
finite for the first time in my life.

my first try at a zuihitsu
Your mother tongue dislodges from its place of origin to fit another language
––there is salt in your mouth from the sea you swallowed in its place.
From the back of your throat something is saying goodbye
in the only way it knows how––disappearing one word at a time.
If you forget something long enough it forgets you too.

The thing is that you only belong to what belongs to you.

Abandoning home was your way of moving forward
and so you left not knowing you taught yourself a magic trick.
Forget enough words and they become thoughts without form.
Forget enough places and they deteriorate with time.
Forget enough people and you start to make it a habit of being alone.

The thing is, the thing is you only belong to what belongs to you.

So, what happens when you forget one home to adopt another?
What happens when your mother tongue disappears in the ocean between two lands?
What happens when you realize all your goodbyes are staggering out of your mouth
in a broken language that did not know enough words to make this parting beautiful?

She knew it was an apple
But she longed for a pomegranate
For then she could stay with him
And not feel ashamed
When the space between
threat and love disappears, I will find
my blood poem in your red eyes.

You nick yourself sometimes
in the light of the blue moon and the journey
of platelets starts for the unknown.

You said I am killing
myself. Around you the fire zooms.
I am standing on the deck, you scream.
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