[“Memories, like a carbon dioxide, can be a poisonous excess,
choking the soul & lead to slow asphyxiation of joy.”]

there are things that are toxic to a bo(d)y, // one is memory. let’s say i have consumed more loss // than what my body can hold. // tell me, am i not hypoxemic? // i am short of euphoria. // i am dyspnea. let me tell you // how this starts with me, six years after // my mother let me out of her cavern: //  there is a way, God says ameen // to the words of lovers testing new hypothesis. //  my mother, a scientist, buried // what took her life inside her belly. // to every woman who jinx on specimens // at the hands of their husband, i hope you are saved. // & i wonder, what buffers the non-equilibrium // state your body is going through? // i start this poem again with ho(p)e: // there are things that eat one up; one is hope. // i cultivated a land of flowers on my skin, // & it grew merriment. but beside it are weeds: loss, grievances // & memories, coiled around its roots, // suckling life until some // become wilted. again, i enter this poem // with (re)lief: i wonder when will our bodies // learn to weed distress? i think there is always // a way to keep those parasites competing // against us for survival: pesticide, herbicide // & rodenticide, but the only thing that tickling // at my ear is suicide. Elohim, do i mean to say content can outshine its creator? // loss, picturesque memories, & memories morphed into grievances. // then, it sneak into a body. what else do you // know about them if not pains & shortage of breath, with great accumulation of suffering?

[Editor’s Note: Publication of this poem was made possible by a gift from Lisa Nohealani Morton during our annual Kickstarter.]