Claire Zhou

quiet

in the soft summer 1
pebbles ripple the orchard pond 2
god sits in the trees 3

endnotes

1. sparrowed songs played on windstrings. our mouths cherried red. we slept in old hammocks
western-style, all-american neighborhood girls in san jose. we twitched in the heat like wild colts.
the air carved into my back as i swung your hands, dizzy in the grass, my mouth chording your
wrist. any second now, your brother will call, or the harmons’ dog will bark, or my head will drift
onto your shoulder. between us, the quiet will seed its perennial flower—

2. you unclothe in alabaster glow, dewed by dawn. in the haze of sunflowers, i am skipping summer
stones or dipping my toes into cool water, grass sweet between my teeth. i am aching like a leaf
for the sun—wildly—as you sleep in the pond. your lillied fingers drip—

3. a crater lake yawns from Her eye. in this western, i worship Her like a gun. we sleep in
hammocks & play in orchard ponds. She slips a cherry into my mouth. Her fingers guitar-pick
mine. when i look up & see Her, i still see you: a ghost under Her skin, quiet & breathless. i still
see Her last-summer mouth, quiet as a memory.

IN ELEVENTH GRADE J. TOLD ME I DIDN’T LOVE RIGHT

& I asked him how love works, what was I doing wrong, can you let me know, like it was some
sort of questionnaire where there was a yes or no, a this or that, I’ll fix it, I know I can. He said it
was the small things: I didn’t want to be on call, I wasn’t available, I was too cold, too distant, I
didn’t want him in my life, he wasn’t my everything. You can’t give up anything for me. I feel
like we could say goodbye right now & your life would go on the same without me. That’s not
true, I said, but it was true, because I broke up with him & ate all the usual things without getting
indigestion. I was a lamppost. Except I remember once we were out getting boba & he put his
head on my shoulder & pointed to my drink. That’s a wall, he said, like your heart damming
itself up. You’re fucking with me, I said, & he laughed & sleeved out a straw with his teeth. He
popped it in. Now it’s not a wall, he said, I can see your heart, I can taste it. I don’t know why I
think of that every time I see a straw. Oh, J., this is all to say that I’d fill out a questionnaire for
you. Yes, the small things.