After Ocean Vuong

lila — close your eyes. 

 close your eyes & remember:  

the monsters in your room  

look like night & taste of blood,  

but they are only reminders  

of childhood before you quit imagining.  

don’t be ashamed. paint your scars gold  

& stretch your arms wide: all they are  

secret stories, etched like lace  

into your skin. head up, lila. maybe  

you are a glass overflowed, but  

at least it’s never half-empty. lila,  

lila. slow down. trace the silhouette 

of your first home, fingertip  

on fingertip. this isn’t imagining  

until one day you forget.  

are you taking your time? take it,  

quick. unwind its rusty hands,  

but don’t pull too hard  

or you’ll end up tomorrow. for now?  

here’s today. here’s expectations.  

breathe deep and hear whispers  

of devil’s ivy & sweet jasmine  

making a garden of your ribcage & soon  

they’ll reach your heart.  

isn’t it funny how you used to stand tiptoes  

to pluck those snow-white stars from the doorframe?  

& lila — lila, unlearn  

the language of disappointment & remember:  

maybe you are mistaken,  

but maybe you’ve forgotten  

how every word translates to “love."