TANYA L. YOUNG is a BIPOC writer, visual artist and PhD student. Her work has been featured in publications such as Salt Hill Journal, The Amistad, New York Quarterly and others. She is a VONA alum. Currently, she is a staff reader for TriQuarterly. She has also read for publications such as Frontier Poetry and Tupelo Press. tanyasroom.com
Hey girl, let’s forget the written formalities. I’m going to ask outright, where are you taking me? We keep waking up screaming. We keep going back to buildings I want to scorch down to the wires, but you just won’t let me. We wake up. Screaming. You got me howling like a sunset or better yet a heavy full moon. Please let me get to know you. I only have easy questions. What do you like to devour? Can I cook it for you? Do you need a place to rest for a minute, maybe a fan to cool off? I got you. But you gotta let me. You keep showing bodies how to chase me or hunt me or find me hunched up, crawling. Ripping me off the bone like chicken hips. I’m sick of being gored, these knife fights make me dizzy. You let these somebodies crush my head, split open wide as a breakfast grapefruit. Do you like citrus; is that what this is all about? I only ask because I’m curious. Girl, I have pockets of clementines and limes. Just slow way down with all these blood oranges. I’ll put a half bag of Cuties in your stocking this Christmas, I promise. Answer me, please. Do you want to hold hands or kiss on the lips? What does your house look like? You make my fingers diamond useless, but I can clean your clutter if you want. I can make my mouth a ribbon bow. There’s still more I want to know. What’s your favorite color? My guess is a smoke-season-moon pink or bruise blue
Volume 15.1, winter 25
Tanya L. Young
