Last edited
25 March 2026
3:40 PM
in Los Angeles
wait, what did you say
about the rain?
THE RAIN WAS
MADE OF VOICES
MADE OF VOICES
the rain?
VOICES, INDISTINCT FROM ONE ANOTHER,
BECAME TORRENTIAL
I WAS STUCK IN MIAMI FOR SOME TIME DURING A STORM
what about california?
BECAME TORRENTIAL
I WAS STUCK IN MIAMI FOR SOME TIME DURING A STORM
WHAT OF IT?
why come here?
IT IS NO-PLACE, IT IS THE FARTHEST
ANYONE COULD GO
ANYONE COULD GO
i am from no-place,
it’s called “Los Angeles”
named after the heavens.
is heaven no-place, too?
I AM IN HEAVEN NOW,
LIKE YOU
LIKE YOU
if we are both here, are we no-people?
IF WE ARE NO-PEOPLE,
THESE ARE NO-QUESTONS,
AND THEREFORE
THERE ARE NO-ANSWERS.
THESE ARE NO-QUESTONS,
AND THEREFORE
THERE ARE NO-ANSWERS.
END SCENE
Wind-swept, the beach of 2006. Curls spiral out of my head and they are golden for a short period.
At times it is a sharp whip of the air, I feel the currents ebb or flow, even when on land. Blood of child becomes brine. Ears full of water. My father will hold my head horizontal, pour a cap full of rubbing alcohol towards my skull, malleable. I will scream at the cold, muffled undulation. Where does it go?
Talons of seabirds are sharpened, they graze up and down the cliffside. Like the dirty undersides of my ten nailbeds. We are much the same. I run here, not knowing my feet yet, not knowing the sand that gives out beneath the weight of the sky. I have yet known no earthquake. Twelve years prior a bridge collapsed north of here. In another five, carcinogens will waste across the Pacific from a shaken island nation. When that happens my mother will tell me, “No swimming.”
I run before the thought occurs to me: sun blinding my step forward. There is peace here. I do not notice the shadow as it descends upon me.
Imagine locks of hair curling lovingly around the bird, as ivy along a building. We move into each other violently. This is its occurrence:
Somewhere - a bird steals my hair - uses it for its nest in a tree - some part of me might - build a home - for someone else - even if that one - migrates far away in time - if you might remember - our spring of that year - that would be enough - that would be enough.
Scratching - along my scalp - I will bleed red - and gold.
Seabird loots child-hair out of love for its eggs. Mother recognizes kin even across species. Gladly, I share this with my winged siblings.