Here we go

SELINA BOAN

Room Magazine - - WILSON-YANG -

cut­ting walls for money, mom smoked ideas out on the ridge of back­doors, broke her ten­dons in Dun­can play­ing bas­ket­ball on the curb, soaked base­ment sinks with thin­ner, skinny paint, all-dressed chips in bed, I read love scenes like the in­side of clouds, ten­der and in­ex­act, through teenage crowds I used to kiss my­self, hands pass­ing other hands in the hall­way

in a dream, whales and their shiny black bod­ies, so big there were waves, I had to run

night-wake up north, I visit new fam­ily and can’t sleep, lis­ten as my niece tells me a story about three lit­tle fish at the kitchen ta­ble, kind­ness a bed, a high­way, a heat lamp for the belly of pigs,

I try to talk like him, hear, here, see, daugh­ter proof, right in the head, I ac­cept the gift of two coats, poke my arms into a puff of feathers at Sears, mom on the is­land like a jaw, an en­trance, and me, awake up­stairs, the sky doesn’t stay the same wher­ever

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