In Another Man’s Mirror

Each section is based on the Oxford English Dictionary’s word of the day from January, 2024.

I. quaaltagh, n.

An empty theatre,
lights still up,
blank screen.

People come in, think
they’re in the wrong room.
It’s nice

to watch them figure it out,
to hear their conversation,
to see if they notice me.

II. cineliterate, adj.

Twenty-four pictures
across the screen
fill your eyes
each second.

Horns and strings
from an orchestra
outside time and space
fills your ears.

You leave your body,
a metaphysical observer
of human behavior,
their ethos and pathos—

until the person behind you coughs.

III. alethiology, n.

I know
this shouldn’t bother me so much,
but I cannot help it.

Escaping this plane,
this strung-up meat bag,
is so nice.

I feel it all
come crashing down on me
instantly.

IV. puffinry, n.

Sit through all the credits,
drive home.

A house that feels
surrounded
by rough rock walls,
cold salt water.

No one ever comes here,
but me.

V. bobol, n.

From the couch, 
framed pictures on the wall
seem to tell the story

of a family
which feels more fictional
every day.

VI. hobson’s choice, n.

He used to say, “Six of one,
half a dozen of the other.”

I had never heard that sentence
before the night we had to choose

between moving into a shitty apartment
or living with my grieving mother.

That felt like the hardest decision
I’d ever have to make,

before our love evaporated
like unattended pasta water,

before I found his ring on my finger
reflected in another man’s mirror.

VII. poncif, n.

We all imagine
we’re the main character
of the movie.

How devastating
to find your story is
derivative drivel 

that gets panned by critics,
that bombs at the box office,
that teenagers call “mid.”

VIII. contrarian, n.

On the bookshelf,
by the Lego Space Needle,

there’s a selfie of us
posing at Pike Place Market.

His grin’s wide; his left arm
hugs my face into his shoulder.

I doubt
he was ever really that happy.

I doubt
he meant any of it.

IX. couscoussier, n.

I wanted
to be wanted.

I wanted
to feel something.

I didn’t think
about what it meant.

I didn’t think
about the future.

X. nidification, n.

When it’s time for bed, I

rearrange the three blankets
strewn over the couch,

empty my glass of water
into the pot of a plant he left,

load the dishwasher with
three days worth of plates,

cross off the day’s square
on the Van Gogh calendar he bought,

mentally prepare for another day.

XI. jingo-ring, n.

Everything is weightless
when I’m asleep.

Colors are bright,
my skin warm,

like the universe
is hugging me,

like the universe
understands me—

maybe, even,
forgives me.

XII. grá, n.

I keep making
too much coffee
in the morning.

I keep opening
my phone after
arriving at work.

I keep looking
at the last
message he sent.

XIII. natak, n.

He’s an actor.
We met in college
when he was the lead

in a queer retelling of 
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
I was a history major

with a friend
in the costume department
who invited me to an after party.

Our hands bumped, reaching
for a slice of Hawaiian pizza.
I was enamored.

XIV. peneroso, n.

The barista asks
how I’m doing.
Their brow pinched
as they place
my chai latte
on the counter.

Dominique says I
look like shit.
“More then usual,”
she adds as
my backpack lands
on my desk.

XV. blue monday, n.

You know how someone
can say something and
it nudges all your tectonic pates?

I tell her she’s right;
I shouldn’t be working today,
and leave with no further explanation.

XVI. prince, v.

It’s unfair, the way
hot people are treated,
how people fall over themselves
to get the smallest interaction.

You don’t mind much
when you’re his boyfriend
and get the runoff.

You do mind when he’s gone,
though, and people ignore you
like the human garbage
you know you are.

XVII. figury, adj.

Back home, I wrap myself
in my tortilla blanket.

I make the mistake
of opening his Instagram page.

XVIII. bitter end, n.

His last post is
from the night I told him.

A familiar streetlamp
under a cloudy moon

outside the bookshop
near the mall.

The caption:
the chorus from “Mister Cellophane.”

XIX. gumboot dance, n.

Guilt claws at my ribs
like bald eagle talons.

Each heart beat,
a seismic event.

My teeth chatter loud
as an open palm on rubber.

My thumb hovers
over the message button.

XX. ripicolous, adj.

I’m torn between two lives,
two branches of potential futures.

One in which I apologize
and maybe he hears me
and maybe we can be together again.

Another in which I atone
for my mistakes, give him space,
and maybe I grow on my own.

But, that’s really only two possibilities
of an infinite set with endless variables.

XXI. piranesian, adj.

Without you,
I feel like

all the color has been sapped
from the world, like

I am on the floor of a cavern and
sunlight is so far away, like

life is a staircase
I’ll never reach the top of.

XXII. nobody-crab, n.

My fingers typed
the letters of the words

without my mind’s consent.
My mind and I tell them

to delete the block of text,
but my thumb,

instead, dashes to
the paper airplane.

XXIII. frontenis, n.

I lose my grip; my phone clatters
against the coffee table

loud as my heart
in my throat,

loud as a rubber ball
slamming against a concrete wall.

XXIV. bermudian english, adj.

When I look at the ceiling,
I see shapes in the shadows.

It’s odd, you know,
how people change you.

You become a mixture
of past-you and them.

Who am I now that
I’m missing part of myself?

XXV. hawker centre, n.

My phone dings,
but I can’t look at it.

I leave it in the living room,
walk around the block.

There’s a circle of food trucks
in the parking lot

of the city park behind Walmart.
I get some chicken satay,

eat it on a bench by the geese
swimming through duckweed.

XXVI. noodgy, adj.

There’s no reason
to put it off anymore.

Clouds roll in, droplets dance
across the lake surface.

I need to go back.
I need to see what he said.

XXVII. mawworm, n.

I’m fine.
I’m normal.

It’s just a message.
It doesn’t have to mean anything.

I don’t have to tie my worth
to whatever it says.

I’ll just read it, process it, and
respond to it like a normal person would.

XXVIII. lardy-dardy, adj.

I walk by the neighborhood
with well-manicured lawns,

two cars in each driveway,
curtains pulled from their windows

to show their dining rooms,
happy families eating together.

XXIX. sectator, n.

My phone lay face down,
alone, on the coffee table.

The only notification
on my home screen is from

YouTube, saying tonight’s
A Closer Look just got uploaded.

Nothing moves in the house;
nothing makes a sound.

XXX. pushmobile, n.

The logical part of me
knows to leave it all alone,

watch a movie, escape
this timeline for a while.

"But. But,"
the other part says,

"what if it never sent?
What if you missed a critical typo?"

I find the message.
He left me on Seen.

XXXI. pettibockers, n.

I am small,
thin as silk.

Exposed, vulnerale,
a rabbit in a meadow.

I almost wish a hawk
would just fall from the sky

and end
this nightmare.