The Sun eats pain in Zubenelgenubi

Those school days / a humid summer fragrant with coconut and smells of the sea /
begged to be let in through sticky windows /


I helped the librarian usher in the air / and exhaled a searing pain / feeling the tip of my finger cleanly sliced by the frame / that overlooked the bleeding hibiscus / wood so blue like my ashen lips /


She stood beside me / a girl with an emerald name / her ebony hair braided like a coir rope / and smiled so that my heart pleaded to have her as a friend /


She offered, as I bit in the dizziness by the skin of my teeth / eyes as dry as the sand /

“Were you born when the sun was in alpha Librae, the moon in Taurus, fourteen years before our tongues espoused an English, embellished by the diacritical course, of a black river meeting the Arabian sea?”

Her words salved me further / ” Is that why you don’t cry?” /


I smiled at the thought that / we blossomed the same day the sun rose in Zubenelgenubi / planning to bond once again in the future over the eating of pain /