14

Rafor L.

Three minutes and seven seconds. Remember our list of cats? 

RainrainTwo were days of the week, a dozen the names of flowers 
we took from a calendar. One year for your birthday 

you saw a rabbit on the lawn and made a wish with an eyelash. 

Yesterday, grazing on the same aster, a humble bee and 
a bumblebee. You pierced my ear with a safety pin, we attached 

and pushed off. April: A butterfly paused center frame, 

white pushpin above the lavender haze of its wing. March: Istanbul with 
birds and bonnets. 

RainrainrainrainraiThe kinds of gifts I give, you can find in 
a curio store. 
RainrainraininI like to think I provide the context exceptionally 

well, though: documenting every little serendipitous thing with 

narratives voiced over images of landmarks.
Didn’t we say we preferred this kind of courtship. I charge you 

for all the memories you’ve forgotten that I remember. 
My rate is much higher than yours, 

Rainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainraineven though you have
memories, too. There’s a flower called strawberry fields. 

I’m telling you. There’s a flower called sixteen candles. 

RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainI have a Bird in spring
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainWhich for myself doth sing—
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainThe spring decoys.
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainAnd as the summer nears—
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainAnd as the Rose appears,
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainRobin is gone.

RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainYet do I not repine
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainKnowing that Bird of mine
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainThough flown—
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainLearneth beyond the sea
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainMelody new for me
RainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainAnd will _——.

Emily Dickinson

Your Brother’s Wedding Day

we smile and say
No not yet

or
No, no little one 

or
Maybe one day

or
We have two cats (hehe) . . .

but never
No we’re unable

or
No never

or
No she’s barren, and 
he’s had his vasectomy already

or
She had an abortion

or
We miscarried this morning . . .

then, if the women’s faces are plump
they grow gaunt

if the men’s faces are plump 
they grow plumper

—

Duy Đoàn (pronounced zwē dwän / zwee dwahn) is the author of We Play a Game, winner of the Yale Series of Younger Poets Prize and a Lambda Literary Award. Duy’s work has appeared in the Academy of American Poets Poem-a-Day, Kenyon Review, The Margins, and Poetry. His second collection, Zombie Vomit Mad Libs, is forthcoming from Alice James Books, November 2024.