Photos We Don’t Take
For F.
“What if / we’re all lovers. What if we’re all little books.” —Dawn Lundy Martin
two lodestones. me there bracing
& humming & you right beside.
then, the collapse of ease.
your waist in my arm as the girl
with the guitar croons Labi Siffre, sings
the blues is always the same
sang, i got a crush / & it’s hush hush. a kiss
in shadows; the stories we shared
without speaking, in front of everyone
in a concert hall standing-room. you
adjusting the collar of my denim shirt, once
then again in DTLA, Little Tokyo, Boyle Heights. as if
i could travel the entire world with you
fastening my slouching clothes.
& we travel a world of our own
in your bed, in my hotel room
the night before. where time doesn’t translate
& we exist outside of it; our geographies.
how an ass is a globe to be trotted
& we each have hollows to explore.
how i spell your name best
at the back of your mouth—
laptop slammed shut, midstream.
how i trace the lines of your tattoos
with my tongue: the landmarks
above your knees, the immovable stars,
even the cosmic message.
a hint of me in the room already:
looping letters on a page
in the softcover book nestled
inside full black shelves,
marked by my own hand.
the heart i wish were there.
how there’s nothing more convincing
of admiration than how hard
i can feel this, right here.
how the tattooed words still divine to me
i’m a Child of the Universe
when i tongue below your collarbone, eyes closed.
Toss
Not real. Not really. The world asks for answers to complicated questions. “If I knew that, I’d know what race is.” “Oh, Rot!” Sometimes the mirror is an enemy. Sometimes a friend is a mirror. The world asks for complicated answers to questions with simple ones. Maybe some people aren’t capable of being—known. I walk into a store one day, and I am unseen. I walk into a building, and I might be invisible. I walk into a cafe, and maybe I see you. Repulsion is man-made in the body. Repulsion grows inside my interior. I should wear a hat to cover it. I should wear a hat to cover my face. It’s so damn hot out, and I need to cool off. You can’t say this to everyone. You can’t say this to anyone: sometimes we don’t like ourselves. Repugnance differs from repugnancy. Or disgust and incompatibility are one and the same. We’re all something in the context of something—or other. When I see myself in someone, I hope I don’t hate them. On the inside, we look too much alike. Being understood by the people you want to understand you. I’ll accept you with open arms. I’ll reach my hands out to keep you from danger. Understanding is seeing me inside your own gaze. Seeing me is protecting you. Seeing me protecting you. The same gesture as ushering you outside. The same as tossing rot out the window.