Jasmine Sorgen
Los Angeles, California
Whenever we closed our eyes
we started flying
our small clumsy hands
grasping at cherries
and picking not-yet-ripe pomegranates
from grandma’s tree
we’d throw them on the floor
over and over
until finally they split open
wandering down the mountainside
we pretended we were fairies
we gathered tangerines
with seeds that were always too big
we found old trinkets and balls
buried in the dirt and leaves
we believed it was magic
for lunch we’d devour grandma’s
abgoosht and khoresh
fight over the tahdig
our favorite of Persian dishes
pancakes of crunchy rice
we’d satiate our gluttony
for sugar with popsicles
let the sticky purple syrup drip
down the sticks onto our hands
we’d lick it away
then beg for seconds
at night the girls and I would sit
in the hot tub naked
point at each other’s bodies
and flat chests without realizing
we’d ever discuss the same things
and not be giddy
the water only warm now
from being in the sun all day
grandma would make us a plate of
strawberries watermelon and cherries
we’d take them into the shower with us
the juice dribbling with
the water down the drain
then we’d all sit with grandpa
cuddled on the couch
watch his western movies
convinced the actors were actually dying
we’d run from the spiders that hid
in the crannies of the closets
and we’d all complain
when it was finally time to go to bed
I’d lay in the bed in the room
that was once my mother’s
stare up at the ceiling
or out the window
smile to myself
and listen to the coyotes' howl
Saffron City Press 