By Valerie Wong

The Retournees

Fresh off the plane
from the West with
sunkissed hair and accents
that have been ironed straight
free of kinks
the retournees swarm the arrival hall
every holiday bright-eyed
with nostalgia, ready
to be reminded why they left
all over again.

Understanding

Not a word I’d normally use to describe you,
but what about this situation is normal?
I’ve picked you up so many times, but I’ve never
really considered it till now.
Him gone, we quickly explore each other.
There is a false air of illicitness that’s making me wonder.
Arms crossed, two perpendicular chopsticks, you survey me.
“What do you wanna do in the future?”
“I don’t know. What do you wanna do?”
“I don’t know.” A flicker. Understanding.
“Aren’t you this artsy writer?”
Wish I could say for sure.
And I know you have nothing to offer, but
I confess my homesickness to your quirk of an eyebrow.
Later, standing beside the river, we watch the joggers
and my imagination too runs wild
with the possibility of so much more.
Guess you were right about me and fiction.
Sexy’s not exactly the word, but you could be.
You’ve given me quite a bone to chew on
and I’m not letting go.