By: Katherine Wei

I intertwine my fingers with the laces of today,
as the irregularity of my heartbeat
thumps to a seagull’s flight, flapping.
If the forgone moments can rip me into clear-cut halves,
torn between what ifs and no, that happened already,
maybe then the characters I built won’t just be players
of the block-by-block world buffering inside my brain.
I douse myself in an unadulterated reservoir of sin,
reminding me of the dimpled palms my fingertips licked
in the scurrying seconds of the day.
and now, even conversations can converse in crooks
with ethereal ease and delicate dexterity.
if only vowels could materialize in my mouth
like straw into gold on a spinning wheel.
if only my tongue could form consonants
instead of cracked clauses like the break of morning dawn.
maybe then, contrition would not soak up my words
like a pregnant sponge that ingests droplets on a tarnished sink.
maybe then, regret would not be livid, writhing within my skin.