★ ★ ★ ★


sometimes when everyone leaves,
and there is no more
split milk or grounds outside
the coffee machine or rings
on tables with coasters at their feet,

the lights flick, the coolers wheeze:
everything breathes sound,
except you don’t hear
and wait for the base,
an earthquake, the tremble,
the shaking of her fingers
the bones that refuse
the spine that seeks to bend
without breaking like wine

you cut bread, forget the spreads,
flicker the electrons of many,
tiny screens to see the news:
how a boy found a lost dinosaur,
how a hoodie was mistaken
for a gun, how a murder is back
hunting socks

sometimes when everyone leaves,
you remember the stories
your body carries collections
that are temporary
or not, always wondering what
will stay, in the light
your eyes try new shades
like your hair with lime
and sunshine, the moon pulls your blood—
why does the sun remain
even through reflection?,
your name changes
your name shifts everyone
always calls you some thing
else even when syllables cannot be
pronounced who, asks the girl
at the corner
are, says the boy practicing his tongue
to roll like coconuts falling horizontally
until the earth decides
to turn, making them fall
vertically: (grab your cat) gravity—land
on your toes
the kid tries to yodel with no
sheep around or c(r)ow(d)s,
except chords silencing
screams, testing distance
with his voice-sonar

the Spanish bless their children
the doorbell echoes through plaster,
the hall, the one brick preserved la puerta
está sonando, no one answers no one
hears (sonar)
there is no question, a vacation
always sounds appealing like cut fruit
like laundry detergent smells,
but the fruit is always squeezed
for its insides, the laundry forgotten,
there’s a ringing in your head: me suena
agradable, you mishear carousels
me suena como caramelos,
I pick up a napkin sonandome
pressure, into the tunnels
bridging to pass air until
we all make our last sound
ella sóno when everyone leaves,
you remember yourself when
everyone leaves,
all there is left
is to dream like the vibrations
of atoms sound as they were
wishing to be
more than particles in the sea
la tierra sueña ser mas que un lago
en el galaxio, lleno de vida
at least that’s what it smells like

Hio Fae is a photographer, model, translator, and writer from North America who is currently finishing a masters degree in Iceland. Although Hio has many interests, surrealism, folklore, and perspectives drive the pieces she delicately ensembles to deliver an emotional message garnished with science and history.

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