(off) balance

I run on the uneven sand

to the Pacific

where the sea breeze whips

my hair.

I smile, not stopping

to realize I will see it

from the other side.

It doesn’t matter.

I am already losing

myself.

***

I stand in trains

packed like sardine cans

and empty ones that wait.

I stand waving goodbye

through the window as it

pulls away.

***

I love

the colorful aisles of

onigiri,

ice cream,

and candy

from Family Mart.

I want

everything, but

I turn over the crinkly packaging,

read the labels

I can’t read,

do thorough mental math,

and decide

I shouldn’t waste my…

money.

***

I am running for my second train

on my last day.

It leaves. I am too

late.

***

I forget utensils, even chopsticks,

so I eat

tucked away in my room

with the foil lid packaging on

my fruit yogurt

***

When I order drinks

with whole milk,

I am distracted by smiles

and cheery conversation,

I am not right

in the mind.

Until later. Until I’m sick.

I want to vomit, but

sickness like that

doesn’t come up.

***

I chop off my hair and

ditch my red polos,

but I cry that it’s too short,

that everything about me

comes up short.

***

In the sea breeze,

I taste sweet figs,

summer peaches,

artisan sourdough,

and chips and salsa.

I am disappointed

that I have failed

some kind of test.

***

My leg seizes and I cry

about suffering. I think about

dying. And trains.

***

Mom dries her zinnia heads,

chops them off, plucks the petals

and labels them

for next summer.

***

The world is blue,

like the sea.

As I approach the wall,

I suck in the air,

holding my breath.

When I flip,

everything spins. I try

not to inhale

the water.

I push off and twist.

And swim on.

Anna Snader