My mother is wearing her new turquoise jacket - a warning flare. My brother, his bedclothes. I do not remember what my father is wearing. A child throws his grandmother's voice in walkie talkie style cinema. Girls with blue hair go where you'd expect them to. Paperbacks spilling dirty words on my red shoes. A woman finds a box for me. Languidly, I uncurl - surprise lilies in the rain, the white bread days of August. In this height of splendor, I am tense. Every woman with thick bangs is you. Every Saturday without a second cup of coffee. Every wish mumbled into a snowstorm. I am a tiger, yowling in a gauze cocoon. I am waiting for the avalanche of smoke that will smother me. All this pink cannot live here. ✱✱✱
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