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.