this morning, the sky crying lemonade

Fiona Jin

& your umbrella brushing mine. sidewalk
puddles as mirrors opaque with exhales

of ichor—we as an ephemeral clinging, fog
unclawing dirt. citrus-soaked air sticky

on our silence, slicked. in another world i am
dying of thirst. acidity beading holes on off-

rose glasses & somehow i see more clearly
than before; you, hesitantly, can i clean them & me:

okay. yellow sun unpeeling, weeping into
a drizzle. swallowed words as lozenges pressed

down swollen throats. medicinal sweetness, lips
numbed mute—this morning, tongues catching

raindrops for mirages, fever shimmering briefly
as rain.

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Fiona Jin is a writer in the Chicago Metropolitan Area. Outside of poetry, she loves drawing and visiting art museums.

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