Everyone I meet

is someone else entirely. I’m convinced

there’s something larger than life 

in the greenish-yellow fog

around your neckline.

Are you home yet? I think

about my friends 3 years away

& hope they’re fine. 

If given a chance to be

anonymous, I wouldn’t take it

because apart from these roundabouts 

there’s nothing else I can offer

or say to your face. I love it

when you arrive like a blue-footed bird

landing back into how

I know you. I try to forget 

about you burying your trachea 

under a wavelength I can’t see

or pry from your hands.

There’s a heart in me somewhere

& if I’m being generous

I may have been a jungle

had I not given in. 

But you’re here now, aren’t you?

Waiting for my admission? 

We’re standing on flat ground

in the sanest of situations

but how could I possibly concede?

There’s a part of me that I can’t

reconcile with the rest of my body.

Familiarity is a subtle kind of bloodwork

& I’m ready if forgetting

is what it takes.

J.Y. Tan is a student from Singapore. Her work appears in Salamander, Lunch Ticket and Rust + Moth among other journals. She was a poetry editor for Body Without Organs (which is currently on hiatus). She likes trying new things, and creating Spotify playlists. Visit her at jy tan.