i.
who has a right to speak on these things
she says it doesn’t matter but it seems like it does, marina says
days later you do this, you think
little things that are fine but leave you thinking
about the darkness of your skin
for days
ii.
for you have met the boundary
of shared experience
like a golden worm
it vibrates in the puddle in front of you
as you walk through warm water
you know if you touched skin
it would be glass, maybe porcelain
iii.
in bed you think of how
you say
my father is from the island
why do you not say I am from the island?
vi.
kiley said
one days these things will come for you
red shoes on a green floor
this is about much more
than a name
v.
your name you can hold
it can hold you
at times you embrace awkwardly
but still
there is warmth
you are strangers
who together are not strangers at all
vi.
it is like an avocado
sliced open
each half heavy in a palm
the pit in the middle must be in one side
or you must get rid of it
once open
how can it be in both sides at once?
and be whole
vii.
it is like an avocado
so sweet
and
so slimy
you can not hold an avocado for long
soon enough you must eat it
or put it
down
viii.
and you want to put it down
the exhaustion, the pride
of being the core
something you have always been proud of
something you are almost always
thinking about, something that makes
you narcissus
staring at this puddle in between you
with its golden worm
ix.
can you put the golden worm down?
most times you do not want to touch it
if you cut it in half
would it multiply?
it does not seem like your own battle
you are too preoccupied with your own shadows
x.
who has the right to speak on this?
most days (all days)
you don’t know
