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

in my calzone i request Canadian bacon sundried tomatoes basil artichokes & mushrooms & myfriend is assured of herself 26 & less afraid & growing into their short cut & it shows in their posturetheir toothy smile & the person they’re in love with for now is symmetrical to her lanky & wearingcomfortable Reeboks & I watch them argue the definition of prehistoric over garlic bread & we discussour favorite books while the pizza takes too long he explains to me what chaplains do & the waitress isSouthern gorgeous all sparkly pink eyeshadow & Sewanee accent & her three ear piercings are dottedwith studs in the color of the flag

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

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.

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

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.

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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

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