New York, USA
Our furnace eyes shine in our skulls, each iris melts glass,
burns through sunshine. Our teeth gnaw at the sidewalks,
tongue to dirt and mouth alight. Jean sits at the desk,
photosynthesizing, brain heating. Classon Avenue is all bottles clinking,
r&b refrain down the block, I put my thing down flip it and reverse it
strangers talking into phones walk past, well there’s no way to know what…
We still the morning with our fingers, freeze the moment with the
day pouring in, move our bodies to the circadian beat,
ears blistering with the unh-tz unh-tz of read, stare-at-phone, eat,
repeat. We dust off our shoulders, kiss the cat once more.
Some other asshole made this bed, we lie in it but bitterly. We
begin to pupate. We stroke our bodies with the soft hand
of forgiveness, dig in our hard heels of despair. Each rib floats like
spires in the skyline, expansive. Small leaves begin to bud at our joints,
green and new, shedding fuzz and curling. Jean motions one branch
towards the door, trunks itching for a walk. We will crown our canopy
wide and shy, spread for strangers, each limb encrusted with spring air.
Every sidewalk crack creases into a grin as we slip-slide off curbs
and crosswalks, narrow streets screeching with longing for our soles.
kira wei-hsin jacobson is a taiwanese-american artist and poet previously based in taipei, currently based in brooklyn, soon to be based in san diego. ig: @kirazahara