I wish I could eat two fat corgis/I’m wearing Wonder Woman underwear the first time a boy touches me/He has a thick neck/He wears khakis/I take a bus to see him/even though I read something about a local bus that flips over every time it comes out of a tunnel/and I know there are more tunnels going this direction than the other direction/The boy owns a book titled AIDS, Inc./which worries me/I know how to watch the street/the neighbor boy from the opposite driveway/who is using a wrench to hang up a tire/I find this funny/that he’s carrying a wrench and hanging his tire with the rope that’s too long/that he’s shortening it/The boy next to me reaches down to tuck my hair back/and scratches my contact lens instead/I think a lot/A lot about California/and what it means to be that shape/I think about the shape of California/and what aliens would think if they landed here/Someone once told me the aliens would speak Chinese/They would come to save us/They would speak Chinese because most people do/
I always imagine/your breasts like fading coals/I told you to open the freaking window/I am surprised by my lies/Once we both volunteered at an animal shelter/and it came time to help a dog give birth/I was supposed to push down on the stomach/because the vet already knew that one of the pups was dead and that the others would be ok now/So I pushed and pushed/but when I saw one little persimmon head I pretended to faint/It was the dead one/You were so surprised and asked me later why I fainted/and I distracted you by telling you about a movie I would make about little animated hedgehogs/The hedgehogs would be all made out of clay/like at the Tech Museum/The credits would be the best part/a curtain would open and all these hedgehogs would start dancing on the floating clay letters with vegetable spines/You pretended to listen/even to be excited/Later, we ate nachos at a 7-11 and I watched the hills to my right/I could imagine all the trees there deciding together to catch fire, to be a series of fires that would nibble at the sky not hard enough to be pleasurable/I could imagine them like a union in protest against their management/All this management of life and death/They were tired trees/
Kristin Chang lives in Cupertino, CA, and occasionally in Shanghai and Taipei. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Word Riot, Winter Tangerine Review, Voicemail Poems, and elsewhere. She gets tired of licking things and just bites them.