Huong & their ravenous love for life their smile warmer than Henny their sideways wink       it’s

August & the antidepressants are working         I beam in my dress rife with abrasions         slices of my

hips & ribs     shining from the slits     I bruise so easy & it’s almost the end of summer you can taste it

on everyone’s voices & Huong has a way of making me playful again        teasing me into venturing out

of the new apartment       we christen the bathroom with smoke      we each have pleasant conversations

with our mothers over the phone          gossip about the church daughters like we aren’t them

outside sirens ring but the fire isn’t us          & Huong has a way of admitting things that makes you

want to love them           they explain how to cook a seafood boil without letting the corn dry out

we talk about our mothers & they’re more women than ghosts             & we’re more boys than

daughters       grinning & walking slow at the Kehlani concert               we worship at her outfit the color

of slate while surrounded by other church daughters     when we finally get back home all we need is

the washed sheets           the gray camp chair on the balcony           the quasi-quiet of insects at night

our merch cost $50 & the train was late but      most things can be fixed if you put a little Old Bay on it