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domestic

sluice

i was born to chill you

lastingly

you’re good at this,

i think post-rinse

my own cold surge turns me tepid

as your nudity swirls for eternity—

contact quick lingers in my membrane;

the filth i came for—all parts out of my purview

the charge is long and clear at last

black suds

deep scents

mingling with your sliced hair

thick but fair unwanted parts

i am nothing but a puddle

set to drain


could fry an egg on the cement it’s so caliente

the little girl’s mind is disobedient. she likes to skip down the city cement, out of shouting range. she likes to read old books, playing deaf outside older windows. she likes to peek through fences, playing with backyard boys she isn’t meant to know. she likes to pretend she goes out, goes somewhere difficult. she likes to pretend she’s allowed to be anywhere but here. she begs for an above ground pool, but no one is ever allowed in it. she begs for some sunglasses to lie down in the driveway, but the cement is so hot and the yellow jackets so large, she’s sure a form of death will take her before reaching tan. the little girl is always so obedient. she watches television in the front porch praying for one day a safe escape. her mother tells her girls get kidnapped, raped by multitudes of boys. there are bad men at the streetlamps; the men her mom brings home are fine. the swings will soar you over used needles. the balls you kick will roll beneath deathtrap vans. the babysitters aren’t to be trusted. her great-grandfather is not to be trusted now either. if anything is loose, you could be poisoned. if anything is quiet, it could be a trap. if anything is exciting, it can’t be honest. if you head onto hot streets, your heels will flame up on your path to hell. there shall never be a summer dusk before you’re back.

things that cause me to love the colors yellow

the type of star that is our sun

my hair, if i had to choose a crayon for it

mustard, although spicier is more akin to brown

complimentary to indigo, but hard for scientists to define as such

gold bangles

runny yolks

mac and cheese of childhood: mom’s recipe with shells

thick knits

how it looks with periwinkle

the impossibility of hating it

my pilates ball

my beanbag chair

my obnoxious headphones

my obnoxious pseudo-obsession with gudetama

the right lighting is never white

plus white wine really isn’t very white at all

leaves soft but dead and fallen

legal pads embossed in black ink

the pages of the books which smell the strongest

twinkles lost in turquoise

my goldfish, dead at 8 years old

bananas with great-grandpa in the morning

applesauce before i learnt to chew

my inability to wear it well unless it’s deep hued

autumn

ancient art

saffron

pineapples in styrofoam in saigon

hints in ginger, cumin, turmeric

city lights

caution

that submarine

and the magic school bus too

my first examples of alleged gender neutrality

play-doh

nachos

the six foot sunflower of my weekend youth

number two pencils

my nyc metrocards

beaks

glaze

the chalkprints on my grade school teachers’ slacks

curry, but not my favorite kind

gildedness

gaudiness

the feeling of light in a windowseat

communication

how i know it’ll go with crimson

the light off the atlantic as it hits your pale eyes

clarity, joyfulness

the guitar pick i never used enough to know

ikea bags full of hopes for playing grown-up

giraffes

lemons

being seen, being bright, being wanted

its hints at creaminess

its refusal to not help me to see


CAUTION:

do not wake while sleeping

do not knock when bach’s mass in b minor is on[1]

 

do not wash dishes while shower is running[2]

do not ask questions audibly while there is reading to be done[3]

 

do not say ‘right,’ ‘calm down,’ ‘relax, or ‘chill’

at your own risk: ‘hurry up,’ ‘come on,’ or ‘you’ll be late’

 

ask neither ‘are you ready?’ nor ‘how much longer do you think...?’[4]

do not allow the yolk to cook[5]

 

do not approach in media res[6]

i repeat, do not approach in media res

 

do not empty coffee carafe into her mug[7]

do not save it for yourself[8]

 

do not leave her towels heaped, a sponge submerged, or damp refuse

do not watch her take any care while imparting knowledge to the task

 

do not mismatch the power cords from adapters and their sockets

do not allow duvet cover to crumple, revealing the loathed beige sofa beneath

 

do not double lock her door

do not inquire as to her innumerable alarms

 

do not bring balcony slippers into the house

smoke outside, but do not leave the screen ajar

 

no crumbs on the floor

no unsolicited contact during sleep

no long kisses without tongue

don’t dare tilt her macbook screen

 

now go, enjoy[9]

and as always, operate with care

 

 

 

 

 

 

[1] if you don’t know what to listen for, just never knock at all

[2] you think you’re helping to tidy up, yet you’ll end up dying young

[3] a DM will not distract her all that much; expect a prompt response

[4] if any of the aforementioned pragmatics came as a shock, please place down this poem; out the way you came

[5] if it doesn’t run, you should

[6] from liquid eyeliner application to cutting produce, this is ill advised within pre-lunch domestic sphere

[7] detestable dregs!

[8] takes one to want some

[9] bring wine

dirty hair

blonde strands as venetian blind,

one eye looked out over past the covers,

placed deeply under her chin, almost to a light choke.

decidedly, she opened

 

both eyes into halo admitting slits.

the brown skinned body angled slightly

toward the window made the first moment

of waking sight accosting—

 

intriguing. a tinge of guilt for being voyeuristic

tried to bubble up, as in the way societally trained

people perform manners

with plasticine precision.

 

large and full—deceptively fantastic

bent over, tightened in

accentuated to noteworthy;

all can be plastic when eyes aren't open.

 

‘she’s right, when she has a guy fucking her from behind

they really are in luck,’ she recounts,

closing shut and scoots her own ass

a few inches,

 

her bed to herself

stretches stretches

alarm reset, most likely to be ignored

to set her into a purposeful lazy sense of panic.

 

‘i only feel this way after...’

 

snooze...baggy black dress, deodorant

in sedimentary layers, as too the mascara,

bobby pins, red pens, whatever, showers

have been optional this week.

 

twenty minutes late,

unabashedly related to humidity

and heavyish platforms;

a different dirty monday.