Words slip through my fingertips
every so often.
Experiences in foreign countries,
meeting new people, and even falling in love—
all boiled into delusion.
A hazy blur of video after video,
scrolled in my bed,
as fungi spread across it
and eventually,
to me.
What did you do this summer?
I turned into a mushroom.
I sit with a smile on my lips, my brother—Abu—
beside me as the kettle begins to sing.
Moomins fill the screen, hattifatteners too.
The TV light painting over my blue.
I’ve had pomegranates twice in my 17 years.
Each time, I was awed at how
something with such a mysterious foreign air
could hold so many intricate bursts of joy.
All I’ve got is the shell:
Ma had lots of heels she’d promised to give me.
Stilettos, kitten heels, and a daring red.
Scuffed and worn,
yet donned like designer.
Comments
I love short and pointed poems like this
Thanks ◡̈
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