Face ID Doesn’t Recognize Me When I Cry
Something, Not a Love Poem
At midnight I eat your expired for him vitamins.
Email with its body as the subject line.
The cut on my thumb from a knife. Or was it paper?
My mom sends me floss in the mail.
The laugh we stained the streets with; the stumbled over sidewalk piss.
The 2 year old January to do list in my coat pocket: order furniture.
My back bedroom window asks my neighbor for intimacy.
The man I sit next to on the bus tells me he always wanted to marry an Asian woman.
Face ID doesn’t recognize me when I cry.
I paid $17.60 in postage and the frame arrived broken.
After the party, you’re still the answer to my security questions.
I met a stranger yesterday. He’s a stranger today.
I change my saved address on google maps and imagine a life ubering without you.
I subscribe to the ebird rare bird alert for anywhere but here.
Latch-hook
easy movement: take a piece of pre-cut yarn. make a loop with your index finger & thumb put the latch hook through the loop and under the canvas the latch will close around it & pull
latch-key kid we do this everyday I learned how to alone hook: follow mom— loop, slide through & under pull
grandma working
grandpa working
uncle already gone
hooked, I became
on making perfect rugs
not to step on but hang
my own hand-made decor
they made me smile
hook: smile for people
wear your hair long
stay out of the sun
pale skin, rose lips
tiny waist, tiny wrist
keep your jade
stay this way
hou leng—my grandmother says when I hold the rug up, two shades of pink ‘B’ in the middle, for Barbie it’s the first one I finish, alone an object of my own making *the image in this poem is taken from a Boye latch-hook rug-making manual, which can be seen online here.