He’s got you stuck in his teeth.

Remember, summer?

          Well, tell me:

Why’d you leave him and I alone in the blue tiled bathroom?

Remember, summer?

The one with the blood stained floors that we sat on for hours.

in orchards of lemon trees

we tiptoe, under the hanging yellow fruit

in blue moonlight, we will stay until

orange light leads us inside

My mother mourns leaving her own country so deeply it runs through her veins into mine. Bangladesh is what she knows and what she loves. She spends her time showing me her culture: spinning through dances, running through poetry, and wading through history.

The sound of the train past midnight

And a clear sort of light seek my room and cheeks

Leaving the layers of darkness, moon, and house light stale and stark

As if the lighter colored sheaths of air in the dark are unbreathable