Testimony
Who speaks for the lyre bird?
I step into the morning and call it a harvest.
Thigh-highs and breathing exercises.
Witness or algorithm.
What did any of us do with all that looking.
Talk about breaking even.
Talk about the jukebox, the Valencia guy,
the Al-Anon slogans.
Patron saint of lost things:
napkin poem and thirty bucks and
I think her name started with M.
The Lebanese student visa.
The photograph of Fatima.
Muscle memory of cartwheel,
keys, lacy tide, where you from.
I’m from exit stage left.
I’m from alif.
I always thought myself cruel
but I just wanted something to do with my mouth.
Moscow mules, white lies. A strawberry moon
the same night I took Southampton by storm.
What is the first part of a fist.
What is narcissism but to kill a thing then scold it for dying.
That summer, I was the obsession.
Split ends, naked-faced.
A séance for the Upper West Side.
Can I beast enough for the rest of us?
Give me a jury seat. Give me your Rolex. I’m good for it.
I fly to Jerusalem just to eyeroll the view.
I wear red. I sip smoke. I step into the morning and it explodes in two.
***
Author photograph courtesy of Hala Alyan
