Published in Gabby & Min
I saw you there, lovingly gazing
at the rust that was wrapping
the tin can in its speckled blanket–
the one that has been sleeping
for years in the creek below you.
You were breezily swinging
your legs beneath you, and
they were dangling in the air
like unweighted fishing lines
being tossed about in the wind.
I saw your jade knit cardigan
on the dusty wood next to you,
folded neatly like you were
doing laundry. As I approached
you, you looked at me with
your mouth stuffed with salt
crackers and your eyes drowned
in peculiar curiosity. You muttered
out an apology for blocking the path
and gestured to a snake hole
to my right as if to make up
for it. I said nothing in response
as I walked past you, and for that
I am sorry. I hope you looked
at the back of my head through
a crosshair the way a young
hunter might watch a fawn–
with gentleness, understanding,
and a twinge of pity. I hope
that you unbuttoned your shirt
and jumped in that creek,
but not before you dusted
the white crumbs off of
your black pants. I hope
that someone held your heart
for you while it was still dry,
and that they laid it on top
of your shirt in the sun
until every inch of its shape
was preserved in sugar and light
like dehydrated mango. I hope
that when you leapt into that creek,
your fervorous laughter was cascading
all the way down like the tears on your cheek.
Jaden Fong 