Poetry / March 2016 (Issue 31)


Can You Meet Me To Talk, Wherever You Like

by Jason Wee

That morning the viscous night
clung like water when
my lips closed too late

while swimming, the sea
spilling in with air, a fear
of the deep twinned with

the fear of breathing...
I laid in bed with
salt crusting my lip.

You walked into Wheelock
black shirt tucked under
a belted waist pouch

holding pills and a phone,
smelling of jojoba
and sandalwood,

'I don't know but it's
Ayurvedic', a man's
oiled hands with the promise

to heal. We talked troubles,
treatments, maladies.
The Miao speaks of a myth

of a sun afraid of
the sky until a rooster
sang him a way

out of the hills. 'Enough
I feel better than
yesterday. Next time how.'

The phone chimed, time for lunch,
meds. The alarm ringtone,
I recognized, is

'Waves', you rose
while I think of where to find
some food from the middle of

water in the middle
of steep hills. I sat
listening for a crow.
 
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