Months after I hadn't had my first oyster
before I came to America. My sister in Canada now
where it starts snowing soon. Things I haven’t seen
keep cropping up. Movies are colonialism
and I’m such a dutiful director, swerving cameras
around oceans I hadn’t had before. Flying in
I’ll ignore the masses of land
locking home. I’ll wait for the next flood
to take us once we finish ballooning the sun
and her hot response to our earthly gassiness—
I haven’t seen polar bears either yet. My sister
posts pictures of herself
swimming through snow
and the melting goes slow as it can.
Every day I wake waiting for water
as if I’m still home as if my ancestors are still
praying for something as so simple as myself
walking across the river here thinking
when. I’ll jump into it in sheer drunken
blaze. My sister had graduated.
My phone’s wet. My parents buzz.
The leaves are red
and falling now. Hadn’t seen that
before either. I’m always surprised by rain.
