“I won't drink the tap water, its poison here” and when she declared that, I couldn't decipher if she meant here as in Northside, or here as in America.
We ate sushi at 2am in the city I was trying not to show my drunkenness but I was stumbling into an accent my grandparents carried with them
tucked in the backs of their mouths, now peering out of mine. testing the hydrogen in the beer in the back of my throat.
I need sleep, I'm hungover This poem can wait.
My mind seems to move itself, spinning somewhat while I remain stationed to soft and tattered cushions
At times, not sure who's moving Mind or body like parking next to someone who's leaving the lot
for a moment you're caught in the standstill Where nothing really stands, Still.
I need sleep My head feels fuzzy This poems not great.
Its much later now, the world seems more capacious somehow When my eyes are fully open.
The last of my confounding half light musings dissipate like tendrils, mist in the rising sun
and I, I am left behind in the residue, The hardened truth that cannot move.
“This water is poison” Her words echo through my day and I wonder if this poison will ever evaporate from our veins.