With love

Poetry

Take Two Before Bed

The summer is over and I still do not know how to

 

wake up in the morning. I fling my jeans over the desk chair

 

to be reminded that I have to get dressed. I’ve grown

 

accustomed to “get well soon” cards and unsolicited “I’m 

 

praying for you “ texts. I used to look for you in every room

 

but now I look for my glasses under the bed. I am always looking

 

up at the sky, or away from things. I am uncertain of what to look at.

 

I look at faces as they look at me and again as they leave the room. 

 

I mostly look at things that have given me up.

 

I am the house left unfrequented. Joey is playing a Spanish guitar behind 

 

locked doors. He is quiet whenever he hears the wood creak

 

in the hallway. A ghost, perhaps. My toothbrush is made with

 

steel bristles and I have become the party I do not want to go to. I cannot

 

go a day without having dreams of circle burns on my ring fingers

 

or of metro railways. A nice bed, perhaps. Every broken tail light

 

is a totaled car. Every time my heart is broken, I want to take a trip

to China or perhaps to Russia or Nepal! I may run out of places to go! 

My body has become a bolded question mark. 

 

A snake will not bite you if it is in your line of vision. 

 

In the same way, I keep you at the forefront of my thoughts. 

 

The man with the large eyes keeps giving them to me. Imposing in a public space.

 

I don’t step off the platform because I need to get away from him. 

 

I have laundry, dishes, and taxes to do. So I stay. 

Elizabeth Hsieh