Six

Iced coffee at dinner,

mixed with shochu.

After, we visit

an ojiisan bar

where a woman high on speed,

with Blondie swag,

rests her head of thick

grey hair

on the couch’s arm.

As her eyes close

I think,

I’m happy she’s made it

this far,

and for the first time

see a white braid

falling down my back.

four

I see the same spider

I saw yesterday

on the floor.

I swat her away,

gently changing her course.

She lands on the bed

and I’m reminded,

I often make matters

worse. The bed is my dream,

my own cave, arousing me

like the real caves arouse Cai.

I’m beginning to understand 

how desiring 

myself

makes me desirable 

to others.

Now, when I remember

conversations with girlfriends

about masturbation,

the way they spoke about it

makes sense.

Although it seems

I have to press harder than them.

three

For the first time, I begin to know a different city. Betrayal feels important. To be able to bike through a city that is not my own. Crashing when I’m not even on the bike. Four purple to blue to green souvenirs. I look forward to showing them off. To be asked, What happened? Cared for in a new city. My room sits empty back at home. I hope my glass animals and dolls feel the freedom to move, like I explained to them before leaving. 

one

Cai brought five writing dresses for five days on the ocean. Black waves with silver on top, like sticky fur, curl into white. I tell her she does look like the moon. She’s been told this before. As the sun sets, the ocean matches the color of my eyes, or maybe it’s just a reflection. So often when I’m writing it is set in the immediate place. Writing about the ocean at the ocean. Where do I go to write about the past?

This sake tastes

like cake.

We’re back

at Goldrush,

where the pole dancer

with blue contacts

leans over the table,

her hands wet 

from perspiring glasses.

Her breasts are exposed

only slightly

through the cutout

on her dress.

She doesn’t pay attention to me

and I feel undesired.

I’d buy her a drink, too!

Fold fake yen bills into her sheer socks.

One of the boys I’m with

acquires two numbers:

hers, and another dancer’s,

who tells me she wants to dance in New York,

but is too skinny.

Back at the ryokan,

the boy tells us the dancer is coming over.

It feels like we are at summer camp

or jail

or an orphanage,

all the men spread out on mats.

The only other girl and I share a room just down the hall,

and the hotel employee frowns

as we enter the boys room.

Presumptuously,

we imagine the dancer coming 

is the one aspiring for New York,

a city I’m trying to escape.

Blue eyes walks in, her natural brown eyes shining

and her peach milk skin 

completely covered by a silk black top and pant set.

I fall in love with her even more.