In another life I'm a translator of alien languages scrolling across the Martian plains in orbit.
Between a tiny Salvadorian restaurant and a pharmacy, a liminal region improbably sustains life.
The social club was dim, and yet I lived there for years.
She is a good patient, carries her body like a brighter coat.
I take my understudy to the mall surrounded by highways and concrete.
Her legs are made to spread between steel. Each day's examining room, paper stuck under sweating skin.
I am eight years old and lose eight baby teeth this year.
I have never learned a damn thing in my whole life.
She was known to suffer—