I wish I could stop telling the same story
— ann zhang

When I write the truth, I write

in second person. No names, no sharp edges.

Just you

and me with a mouth full of tinfoil.

There are too many tongues

to keep track. I am so afraid of drawing

the wrong card, my last nosedive-jack-

knife-burst into rose petals. The dust is harder than you

think. We’ve been over since

I entered this world, pinkish, gnawing

my rashes, but

these days I cannot stop un-thinking.

These days I collect your everyday ashes, though

I have no place to put them, not in this pocket-

sized house, not today. I curve

my backbone into a question mark, or apostrophe.

My arms are full of yesterday’s

knickknacks. You know, we could undo

these truth tellers, under some blue-

black wing of night.


 

Ann Zhang in your typical predictable American suburb. She has a not-so-secret soft spot for tofu cheesecake and other alternative desserts.