Jealous As a Rotten Wound

By Lydia Lim

Jealous as a rotten wound, 

I could take your hand, and continue

This drive uptown where the

Road flies smooth. And we’re

Eighteen again, and barely legal,

Tumbling on seeded grass, and 

Out of this sedan onto the concrete

With scars on one hand, and 

Bruises on another, cigarettes 

Dripping smoke as we burn the 

Night sky together.

And what does it matter? 

All this ice melting, and all this

Liquor burning, and perhaps we

Could be nine, and competing

To see who cartwheels the best

On this old brick road, brushing off pebbles 

And cuts with fists as small as

How the moon looks even as we

Squint into black and blue, 

Cleansing all this vitriol with 

Violets, and distance, a smile lingering in

The corner of the room.

By Lydia Lim