by Xiadi Zhai

no longer
am i equipped to decide
whether or not pants
fit my body

last year
when we walked along-
side timid curling water
you told me you liked my shirt

oooooo what are you trying to SAY
i thought
& i can’t ever seem to make
the curls inside me

stay there last night
i dreamt i was tracing
the skin connecting your jawbone
to your collarbone i

woke up
roller-skating at the rink of
your bottommost spinal disk—
by any chance, did you feel me there

​& how was it

in that apartment with no-
thing but
bed & lamp & your eyes
i swear space has its hands on me—

can i you always ask
until i need you to

i did not want perm-
ission to hurt you
but you gave it anyways
shhhhhhh

last night i dreamt of our river-
bank on your chin &

i tumbled right off of it & ahhh.

About the Author
Xiadi Zhai is a senior at Harvard University in Cambridge, MA. She is indescribably appreciative of her poetry professors, friends, and family for encouraging and supporting her poetry.