Mayalu Press

My friends are coming

I washed the sheets. I scrubbed the sink. I turned
on the heat
for the first time this season, cracked
a window to air out the hot dust.

I rolled out my back, snapped
my spine straight. I bullied
my jaw, moved it
up and down in my hand.

I practice what I will say. I read our
texts aloud. I laugh the way they make
me laugh. I warn them
about my small bed, my creaky voice.

Don’t worry about the quiet, I’ll say.
Don’t see the cobwebs. Give
me a second. I’ll be right with you.
Don’t mind the dust.

– KMN

In lieu of flowers, please send someone

—because I know how this kitchen sounds when our first sun golds come

So in lieu of flowers, please send someone.

Hold me still as the seasons change.

Keep me calm as our heirlooms age in your aiselu jars

From four summers ago.

I don’t have it in me to throw away what isn’t good anymore.

So I work for a better harvest instead,

line your crummy milk crates with fresh linen

And let the artisans fall into them

Knowing the cut worms will hollow them all soon enough.

I keep falling asleep on your spot thinking you’re keeping an eye on them.

So all of our sales are about to be undone,

I will not grieve what’s left after bugbites.

helpless as I have appeared these nights,

I want you to know I’m tired.

Everyone else is about to break new ground

I clear cutworms by myself.

Heartless as I have become

since autumn,

I don’t want to say

you’re right.

~ཨེ་ཀོ་རོ་ཀན་ཆ་ཏ་མང་།