He says, let’s move to Alaska.
I’m just asking.
Bluebells all in tantrum. Like trains stripped of their signals. Galloping blind into the west.
Why cross the George Washington if you don’t have to. Fran lights a cigarette, shakes her head
no thank you.
All this clanging, for what it’s worth.
Steamed fish dumplings in the basement. Still hot. We swallow without blinking.
I suppose I could eat anywhere, is what I’m saying.
Forsythias spilling over the sidewalk. No idea there’s only room for two here. Petals aflame like
we’ve been counting to ten or something. Say it again.
Ten, or something.
Fran where are you going, the lights are still green
And everyone is coming outside to meet you.
Stephanie Chen’s work has been published in Bayou Magazine, Juked, No Tokens, Lumen Magazine, and Killer Whale Journal, among others. A previous Pushcart Prize nominee, she loves black coffee, bad puns, and nearly-ripe satsumas. She lives and works in New York City.