a tomato squashed (pt. 1)

I was always the Blue Lips Kid at swim practice, my face bloodless and flushed at the same time, lips a deep shade of indigo. My mom would call me Esther Williams when I came out of the locker room, hair slicked to my head, fuzzy sweater sticking to the humidity of my cold skin. I was a Tomato; the pool was built on the burial grounds of a tomato field and my swimming cap had an anthropomorphic tomato on it.

I was only supposed to do freestyle and backstroke at my first meet, my two best strokes if I pointed my toes. However, a dark surprise waited for me as I sucked my lima bean body into my scarlet swimsuit. Someone had signed me up for the IM by mistake, a race consisting of four laps–one of every stroke. I knew I physically couldn’t complete the race, and yet I also knew there was no option to stop in the middle. How would I exist in the space in between?

tea-drunk

upon turning 18, i started the weekly tradition of going to the twisted branch tea bazaar. a knotty, sculpted tree climbs up the walls there. i see the gnarled eye of Methuselah in its whorls.

a flock of vividly patterned rugs swarm across the floor.

traversing the shallowest definition of grownness, i nervously brandish my vertical ID to buy hookah and a pot of tea.

feathers of creamy white smoke drift upwards from my lips, signaling adolescent angst.

fresh melon, fragrant rose and a powerful headrush glue me to the pile of silk pillows, my virgin lungs drunk on thick vapors.

every week i pretend to read books but instead eavesdrop on first dates.

one time i thought i met the love of my life but he fled when he realized

i was still a child.

as i languidly recline behind a pot of atlas sage, the server tells me i must be tea-drunk.

for louise bourgeois’ “maman”

dear mommy,

you are a tall, one-splenda latte, a 5'8 latte to be exact.

at 7 am, the sun is golden and seeps through the windows in a sheer cascade,

punctuated by the drifting dust of a Turkish rug.

you greet me with a hug, dancing and regaling daily tales of the dog,

and then proclaiming "i've already had my two cups of coffee" when I look at you like you’re crazy.

you guard your children with elephantine wisdom, the grace of a spider, and the fierceness of winter.

i know you were scared to leave me behind and

i know it broke your heart when you saw me in the bathtub,

but you are the brightness of morning and i've never seen you cry.