Maggie Mei-Yin Wong
we wade in, so far past the shore no one can see us they
cannot see us
the water lapping at our chests, moonlight ribboning around our bellies
until we are ablaze and tugging,
the squelch of fabric from skin
like the suction of a surgeon’s tool mid-excavation
a reverse unearthing no one has ever tried to name
i’m on my tiptoes when she tells me about the sea turtles, the just-born, barely-there ones,
the ones
with ears mistaking the croon of sidewalk lights for a siren’s gentle wailing,
the ones who never make it
home.
in return, i tell her i think my mouth is a
graveyard. she
pries it open and out comes a
bird, sweat-slicked.
her palms open like a life-raft offering,
and my fingers dance
themselves into blossoms on the back of her
neck and, even in the absence
of salt, give her the moon.
we slot together like factory tooth wheels,
we, all slackjawed honey holding our wrists taut,
we / kissing the rivers holy / forget to be afraid
Maggie Mei-Yin Wong is a sophomore from Southern California. She’s an Asian American Studies and Psychology major whose career aspirations mostly involve making coffee and watching the room change colors with the sunset. She was named after the actress Maggie Cheung and thinks that gives her some authority on what it’s like to have big shoes to fill.
