Lilian Ha

I’m varsity all-star first team winner. I’m winning
because I’m 16 and sober in the bathroom sink,

almost. Because I can shoot hoops and bullets
and still put on that face, teeth turned in square,

but don’t tell. My mother, at least. Once I straddled
the fire escape, then the highway rails, only long

enough to see the ghost bleed out of me. No,
she wouldn’t like that. Yes, I’m still at home studying.

No, I broke the stove for fun, waited for my fingers
to smolder and water steel on my tongue. It was an

accident, I swear. I was just trying to burn the trophies,
the too white light, the knot beneath my eyes. Still

no one asks why I didn’t look both ways, if I looked
at all, where the train came from, where it’s going.