Sep 23, 2022
A Lesson
Neither of you knew that your night together would smash everything.
Our desert-night camouflage pattern may bring back memories of the flak you donned in Bagdad.
I remember when they told us to get off the plane, though I have tried to forget it because you said it was not a story.
As a team of three, they have no choice but to help you catch the boys because even they know it is not safe for girls to be alone with a Schwarzen Mann.
You make of him a mouthful, yet you can taste his unease, taste his cold feet.
I told myself I accepted his gala invite because I wanted to see what else they could get away with.
There’s a comfort to our clinging, to the familiarity of togetherness, where the pain is predictable and the pleasure enough.
The girl takes another step across the ice. She is bold. She is thirteen. She doesn’t care if things break.
She tells me our tip percentage is all about our mindset, even though people don’t tip well at brunch.
Had we been diverse enough? Had we changed hearts, minds, and souls? Had we been . . . truthful?
"Something in the hole grabs back. Something that doesn’t give up. Something with fingers and nails just like mine."
He’d seen himself as something different then: greater than he was, more worthy of acclaim.
Our relationship might crack as we build two babies, but turtles don’t rush.
The Green Man dreams that one day he will throw away the flag and depart for home in a bug-free rocket ship. But not before the children grow up, walk instead of fly.
Her family had no wings, only legs that could traverse blocks at street level, where no one was allowed since the Sickness.
Some just want a lick of fame, prostrate at my feet with their sweaty headshots, as if I am the one to save them.
