BROWSE Columns
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Outside cottoning with rain but I am ill with you, steeping
softly like hόng chá. The architecture of your arm buttressing
your neck. The milk of your tricep steals me, my phone
in your hand liking whatever you like on my Weibo.
Jade Emperor, you saint me with your thumbs, robe yourself
in impersonation, tasting the mundane. Already the algorithm cannot
tell us apart. Have I seen the video of the cat crawling
beside its brother snake? You find a new cover trending
on the hot search, say, I used to hear it on the radio. Eyes
crinkle like papier maché. I’m bowed before you realize
my design, redden cherry-cheeked. Aiyo. The device slips
between the cushions clattering on the parquet. Fold your jeans
down like an origami crane. So much of us are sharp edges,
muscle and bone, but the glue of us is simple, smooth and silken
as flour and water. My throat moves salt-brined but it’s your voice
that catches, flocks and burrows, tenses a low cry, tethering our joins.
Jael Montellano (she/they) is a Mexican-born writer, poet, and editor. Her work exploring otherness features in ANMLY Lit, Tint Journal, Beyond Queer Words, Fauxmoir, The Selkie, the Columbia Journal, and more. She is the interviews editor at Hypertext Magazine, practices a variety of visual arts, and is currently learning Mandarin.
