you listen to every song that makes you feel and try not to take such deep breaths.

you think of every crucial moment and ignore your stinging eyes.

but

eventually

your chest tightens to the point of no return and

your face is suddenly hot

eyes swollen

as though the more you fight it the faster you lose.

waking up after a night of heavy tears

though

makes everyone a winner.

it costs a dollar twenty five for the drier that leaves your clothes still damp

but the lemons on the tree are perfectly ripe

and the wind chime sounds like

namaste.

though the clouds are thinning

it’s just cool enough for sneakers

and warm enough for tank tops.

gram is in the basement

dad is at the liquor store

and mi madrastra es talking with

the man who rents the apartment upstairs

exchanging recipes

and munching on chicharrones.

today

I live in the Santa Clara slums

and

feel as at home as I did

in the rain.

I inhale into my back bend as my mother and pregnant aunt do the same.

my mother’s toes begin to wiggle on their own

my aunt, eyes closed and belly full, mumbles along with the mantra

words that are unfamiliar to me

yet are home.

Keith prefers to be called Di Laoshi

but I call him Keith in private

even though he compliments me on my characters

and wants to send me to Beijing.

I smile because

xiexie is easier to pronounce than

wo bu zhidao.

my teacher

named for a province in Spain says

he has adopted himself.

the yoga DVD instructs to

drink from the well,

so I

call to Aunt Lakshmi

Di Laoshi

Master Ozuna

and I do.

you can learn a lot from feeling guilty

like

the tightness in your chest will pass,

and

that too many people

take breathing for granted.

you begin to tell the difference between

blame and accidents,

that sometimes

you need to unlearn the term

“fault”.

but most importantly that

saying

“I forgive you”

is not saying

“it’s okay”.

1.

I feel strange

grandfather

referring to you by

your first name

2.

did you know

people always ask me why

as though i’m supposed to know?

3.

I don’t even question

that

you would’ve been proud of me

4.

can you miss someone

you’ve never met?

5.

I just want you to know

I

don’t

blame

you.

I remember the night you were most disappointed.

we turned down the studio lights because

it was well past midnight.

doors open because

it gets pretty warm in July and

the noise keeps the June bugs out.

your ankle was twisted

blood on your knuckles

your teeth were pink

eyes black and blue but

it didn’t matter.

I was the one who answered the phone

and almost cried when our teacher told you,

“there’s always next year”.

I remember the night you were most disappointed.

we turned down the studio lights because

it was well past midnight.

doors open because

it gets pretty warm in July and

the noise keeps the June bugs out.

your ankle was twisted

blood on your knuckles

your teeth were pink

eyes black and blue but

it didn’t matter.

I was the one who answered the phone

and almost cried when our teacher told you,

“there’s always next year”.