TWO POEMS by VICKI LIU
heaven is an empty airport terminal
i remember so much
and nothing at all
the speckle of rib
meat between your teeth
you, saucy-mouth whispering
god, please let’s just eat
two days later we’ll sleep on the floor
gift shop blanket tucked under
the departure gate seats
empty bathroom, endless stalls
i wash my hands in every sink
mother yeast
yeah, i suck at chess
& the past four weeks
feel more like fermentation.
most mornings, i wake up
coughing. had a big lunch,
but still, i could eat. & yes, i still
hold my breath when the
train rattles by & yes, i
still flinch when water drips
on me from nowhere. yeah,
i watch a lot of cooking shows
to be honest, i’m still not sure
how bread is really made.
i know a lot of words for burning
(caramelized, flambéed, brûléed)
i know that sugar is sweet & loves
to be on fire & yes, there is a flat part
on the back of my head. i’ve never
seen it but i recognize it, shaped
exactly like my mother’s thumb.
i’m told that when we’re young
our skulls are soft, like
dough, like something you
need to prove. & yeah, i have
some cash, but paying with coins
makes me feel dumb. four weeks
of post nasal drip, in the toilet,
a big glob of it. break. it. up.
am i short? or tightly packed?
can we go somewhere else
please i’m so hungry
Vicki Liu (she/her) is a freelance illustrator based out of Queens, NY. Her writing has appeared previously in the Broadkill Review and in her spare time she thinks a lot about what to eat for lunch.