Poetry by Naa Asheley Ashitey. Translation by Marie Anne Arreola.

Therapized

Our love began to form at telomeres.

We danced under flashing white lights and bone-crushing waves,

to the tune of echo-bursting laughter and

the memory of Winnoa-level screams and arguments.

It's an aromatic sight to some,

But it's a mirror to where our story began

And how far we've come.

I take it all,

As you kiss the inside of my palm.

We come to the apologies we said years back,

Never letting each other go as the melody slows,

Ending the ceremony that honors what it took to bring us here.

The story doesn't end, simply, a new chapter begins.

And we'll take the surprises the narrative will throw at us in stride.

Our love continues to form from telomeres.

Free bleeding down Market Street

Honey and cigarettes mixed into the

6am fog creates an aroma I can't yet describe,

But have found myself missing these days.

I never stuck my tongue out and tasted the dew;

To allow it to rest on the tip.

I imagine it would lay in the shape of

The teardrop I wiped away from

The memory I did not plan to recall until Thursday's therapy session.

It certainly wouldn't feel as soft as the first snowflake of a Chicago winter,

Nor when I swallow it down, coat my throat the way

My lover's cum does,

As he slowly deflates

Into whispers into a bed good enough for sex,

But not for love.

Alas, the description I am looking for will be lost for now.

Only time and opportunity will bring me back to my second birthplace.

To stand in the middle of the tracks,

an inch from the road,

To watch the sunrise above Ferry Plaza,

Kissing last night's nightmares to their resting place.

I can see that faithful fog is in the distance,

And in hours or minutes,

depending on what she feels like doing today,

Will leave us all wet

as she coats the city so gracefully

as she always does.

Come to me

It's okay to turn my name into a sin;

To scream it with scorn instead of love.

I can handle the storm—

The rain that falls ahead of the first thunder.

I can swallow down the chill that follows the initial warmth of your dewdrops.

I'll always welcome the sob to break the silence we will have sat in.

When you now say my name,

its intonation lifting like a prayer,

I'll shed the snakeskin and let the wings grow.

I'll answer your call at the first ring.