by Christine No
When Mom was seventeen, Grandmother tied Auntie to a kitchen post and broke the knuckles on her right hand. When she was eighteen, Mom ran away with a boy who promised her California.
If I was trying to relive my youth, I said, he was trying to clog his arteries and hasten his death.
in that monday bar / we perch on maple stools
colorless void / deep evening / in cambridge
her eyes miles wide / white on ruddy skin / cheeky
the flight of spanish reds / untouched / meditate before me
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