I am talking to the ceiling
while you are yelling in the hallway,
your body slightly out of frame.
We are laughing and speaking
into each other and also
around each other somehow.
Above us, an orchid is blooming
on ice. The petals run through
the air like heavy cream. Drops
land on your skin and you smile:
face unclenched: mania softened.
New blooms burst all around us.
They tell me we were meant to give
and take in proportion. Yes, the flowers
murmur, you will take and take this time.
Taylor Zhang is an English teacher. She runs a small Risograph press (Choo Choo Press) that publishes literary zines with an emphasis on queerness, nostalgia, obsession, and states of liminality. Her own work can be found or is forthcoming in The Massachusetts Review, Vassar Review, The Louisville Review, The Drift, and Columbia Journal. Originally from Jackson, Mississippi, she now lives and works in Brooklyn, New York.
Twitter: @tayxzhang
Instagram: @tay.zhang
Website: taylorzhang.com