by Jessica Kim
and it still fits all the spaces our bodies have grown fond of.
We still believe in quotidian gods who camouflage themselves
in our desk drawers full of postcards. Full of river water ripples
lapsing onto our ankles, the islands we have yet to conquer.
We’re not looking for revolution but rather, a softened
streak of sunlight bouncing on water. Tongues unlearning
regret, instead parsing the springtime air into love songs.
The earth can weigh our flesh on its moss-covered back,
our mid-afternoons dissolving into fairy lights draped across
our palms. Sunsets are always careful, like a god sculpting
life out of dirt. We watch light fade into our bedroom,
into picture frames with our youth crystalized and lost in
imaginary carousels with horses and chariots in flight.
Even our dreams are identical. When morning arrives,
we forget the words tattooed on our palms. We fly away
in opposite directions as the dawn splits us apart. Wonder
if we will remember to mend the distance, to make two
servings of breakfast, to leave the back door unlocked
Jessica Kim is the author of L(EYE)GHT. She has been recognized as the 2022 West Regional Youth Poet Laureate and a National Youngarts Finalist in Writing (Poetry). Her poems appear in POETRY Magazine, NPR’s All Things Considered, The Adroit Journal, and others. She studies at MIT though she calls Los Angeles her home.