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a line
drawn on sand
becomes a border
waves come
draw the line
never the same
they go
again
atomically
the border is gone
again
impossible
what if
on sand
what if
i draw them
naturally
borders are
scissored by mountains
waves drown them
again
every where
in every one
naturally
again
what if
i drew
again
waves have nothing
your border
uncaring
all
that was
what if
then i stop
to drown
we can crash
how we move
the what ifs
the last line
i stop
some more
my border
like waves
carrying
drown them
your border remain drawn
my border
you
cannot
cross
you
cannot
cross
you
cannot
cross
you
cannot
cross
you
cannot
cross
i have seen
you buried
beneath the
waves
what if
i call you
brother
& you
call me
brother
your brother
my brother
i feel this story again again:
one of us
a dog
the other
a wolf
wolf brother hunts the masters
dog brother helps the masters
hunt the wolves
helps them dig trenches
with our snouts
we can be either
never both at the same time
the masters
become
a soldier
they always do
they always do
they always do
they always do
they always do
when you & i
are off playing
thinking they
are soldiering
elsewhere
they see our feral
shadows
between sun &
horizon
they fire
twice
they always
fire twice
always one bullet
misses
sometimes
before they fire at us
you are the wolf
sometimes
you are the dog
always the bullet enters you
always silence
your eyes jutting me
i say nothing
say nothing
say nothing
say nothing
say nothing
as i run off.
later
i dig
your trench
dutifully
the soldier
slices part of
your ribs to feed me
later
later
i try to find
your trench
but it is never
in the same place
atomically
impossible
my brother
this version of this story stops here
i look out at this beach
where i’ve buried you
again again
what if
i am something more unnatural
than dog brother &
wolf brother
& i can drown our master’s language into a knell
ringing for the horizon to be ours
& i will reject that calling because even the horizon
is a border
& i do not want you to always die alone
without
sound
Cover art: “Close Connections” by Gerburg Garmann
Mylo Lam (he/him) was born in Vietnam and currently lives in Los Angeles. He and his family are refugees from Cambodia. Mylo’s work has been published or is forthcoming in Barrelhouse, AAWW’s The Margins, MĀNOA Journal, Guesthouse, GASHER, and elsewhere. His multimedia work won Palette Poetry’s Brush & Lyre Prize, and his chapbook AND NOT/AND YET was the Editors' Choice by Quarterly West and will be published in Spring 2023.
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