Rowan Wu, Brooklyn (ink on paper)
Waking up in a room
that’s not yours, blue
& white lights flashing
in symmetrical patterns.
This is a subtle reference
to a place I know
& don’t know. Everything
is familiar in the dark.
The first time I ever saw
words in the sky, I was 19
& alone & there was a skyline
disappearing behind me.
Above, a message in gas:
FORGIVE YOUR ENEMIES
TODAY. This is the part
of history where we advertise
in the sky. I write down
the message. I save pennies
& I save my bottle caps.
Collecting tokens of a life
I don’t have, but could.
We’re all different geniuses.
When you buy a coffee
in some foreign city & they
treat you like a local & you
act like one even though
you know you’re not. Like
driving through a tunnel
& the radio voices turn
to one soft buzz. Whistling
cars. When I looked
back up, the words
in the sky had widened
& flattened. If god is shaped
like the sky, he is covered
in scratches. That is how I know
I look like him. The problem
with all this is the problem
of water: to evaporate, to linger.