my last name dwells in my throat. 汪, meaning
a lot of water. enough to drown myself with
myself. we’re cold my body says to me far too cold.

*

the hairs behind my ears are always raised.
they are waiting for a flower petal. what falls
& never forgets. belonging lives in soft pink.

*

the distance between china & america lies in
the constellations & what counts them the hand writes
one: you were born where your ancestors weren’t.

*

目: two slashes through a box, chinese for eye.
i almost understand it: eyelids half-closed like
a sentence. the pupil: it expands into a period.

*

if you spread your arms my mother says the wind
will close its long-winded lips around you. no wonder
i can’t fly. girl is featherless even with the long l.

*

insomnia brushes against my shoulders. i hug it
so it twitches like a child who believes she will
live forever. it hushes into the base of my neck.

*

add a dot on top of 目 to get self. 自: an eye
with a single lash measuring me. i see you
so i can open your loneliness. let me 飞飞飞.

*

where does water go? it tends towards ocean,
where salt is the mother of every question. let’s go to
where you’ll dissolve my body murmurs, already blurring.