the other day my friend was in the air she was flying to istanbul the morning of those bombs.

scorched horror for a sec then thanks to fb found out her plane had turned round in time dropped her off at changi. so thankful, blessings, she’d be ok but that dread moved in like

guess death has been stalled for another day. like

happy she’s safe between rails of dark glass and carpet taut

for now. i thought

about the flat pack where thankfully they did not lay her down and how performative or not performative my grief might have been. she does everything right yet there it is the carnal the pink danger of being in between

remember when it hit that fruit is an ovary out the window the pomelo tree

bloated and

they’re not much of a fruit but god that tree. you were already twenty four so not very bright but to be fair you hated listening you

knew in it your body like that is that is a real possibility that is a real possibility you

hear the female voice neutral accent neutral dialect announce one landing another leaving not yours but you listen now

So they dropped my friend at changi where the beers aren’t cheap but it’s 2016 bitches don’t get loaded sweat it at the fitness lounge feel

the tendons’ ends grip you upright listen to the string still itself and waiting don’t

stop the lounge the earlier you start the more you will shed