Friend. There is now dissolution. Friend. I am drinking a boba from your treasured place and swallowing without conscious chew. Friend. I choke. Friend. I am not sure if the airport you left from is the airport that would make us again whole. Friend. I disguise my heavy chest with a doctor’s interpret. Friend. Please forgive my human self. Friend. I am holding your picture to my face. Friend. This Snapchat memory is shining like a beacon in this broken New York night. Friend. I will never draw my curtains, will never shut these shutters shut. Friend. Answer my WhatsApp. Friend. Hello? How Is Paris Today? Friend. Do you remember that bench near the basketball court on our college grounds where we eyed noodled white boys and mouthed in sing to Chainsmokers and Kanye West? Friend. I now use them to bring you back to life. Friend. I am aging, wrinkling, spotting. Friend. Winter sunbathing. Friend. My brain too young to forget, too old to dismiss. Friend. How Are You Doing These Days? Friend. This adult is not your human self. Friend. Stitch. Friend. Traverse. Friend. I still treasure that letter gifted to me on our graduation day. Friend. I wear every word on my neck. Friend. Us foreigners are like family. Friend. I will always leave a shadow behind to be used as some sort of shade. Friend. Let’s watch each other forever on Instagram. Friend. Can we make some promises again? Friend. When I was younger, spirits lured me o till my grandmother pinned down my thrash and sentenced me to never be by myself again. Friend. Thank you for your antidote. Friend. Thank you for aiding me towards a self of good growth. Friend. Without mother, without father, with each other in this foreign land, we condoned. Friend. I Love You. Friend. I stand still in the middle of bustling New York streets anchoring these pavements with my beliefs. Friend. I feel the world’s shoulders brush me. Friend. To practice one’s true self is to grow brave for consequence. Friend. I am here for honorable acts. Friend. I am sitting at JFK again. Friend. What did you eat today? Friend. I bought fish sauce only to stare at it. Friend. I am buying a beret. Friend. I am learning new words to give breath to our dying language. Friend. I have to leave this place again. Friend. All these clean slates should become a sin. Friend. I am trying to find purpose to all this earned strength. Friend. Every song takes me back. Friend. Find in me an anchored ship, a partial space, a forever exist. Friend. Wait for a god that will not make you wait. Friend. Meantime wish upon me. Friend. Kiss my wrists. Borrow my gaze. Seed it. Friend. Make it with me ’til the end.
KUNDIMAN 20TH ANNIVERSARY POETRY PORTFOLIO