summer is coming soon & i will get a lot better

i’m not above pretending
departure is a grand ordeal– orchestras, mourning, all unending
residue– though all it does is burn. & i gladly let it. burn
a hole through holes– make absence
all the more present. it will heal. in no time
we will be silence again
& every sweat-soaked memory
will climb its way down my legs, all plastic,
too eager, shivering. i swear i won’t
watch it struggle to walk away. i swear i can
be kind to what has once lived
on my skin, taken hold
by every hollow thing i wore.
when yangon may brings us the high
nineties & we all melt, flesh
barely holding out, we will start
asking very sure questions
& making very sure statements.
for example: why did we have
to do that?
&– i want you
to know i am
mostly a person these days.
&– i have a to-do list
before summer yells
at me for the second time
in rage: to kneel
an exercise at being, to tongue
it, taste it, relearn
to learn. unearned mercies
abound.

---

t.r. san is a transsexual lesbian lover, yangon riverbed regular, shrinking space, construction site, & many other things.