part of the world
Nokyoung Xayasane

there have been times
when I’ve wondered if I’ve stepped
into an indie movie
rife with flower crowns
long-haired musician writer poets
dancing in the billow of hash and weed

sometimes you’ll say things
like, You wouldn’t sit with anyone else
under the apple tree, would you?
you’ll talk about transcendental meditation
and maybe

part of the world is dancing around a bonfire
and laughing as flames laugh
the embers smoldering and rising into the air
part of the world wants to know
who their parents are and if they’ll ever fall in love
with someone of integrity

there’s someone holding a pepper over a blue flame
and waiting for it to blister
there’s a man standing in the shadow of a willow tree
a young boy falling into the fields of gold
there is a love that is so quiet
like the hum of silence in an upper apartment

that part of the world is not us
we’re sitting on a patio in the late afternoon
my hat flies off but I catch it in the street
we are passing by a place where I was betrayed
and I tell you the story and you say
that’s understandable

you don’t like lines, waiting in lines
you tell me
they make you feel like you don’t exist
I am trying to listen to your stories
but all I can think about is eating a sandwich

we are watching a funeral procession
on a crowded street and I reach for our bag of groceries
and eat the chips in the least offensive way possible
and yet you still laugh

we are sleeping in on a Sunday afternoon
I can sleep in with you
I am groggy and light-headed and happy

we are dancing in a field of grass
and music is playing
there are people all around us
and we sit on the grass
and we are with them
and also alone
and with each other
and also alone

and maybe
I think
we are part of this world
and maybe
this world is within us
who can really say?