dollar store sonnet
i’m a five-below tree frog bitch so i can’t tell
the difference between the tree, the general, family
$1. usually there’s a section where things
are 8 times $1, so after i vomit in this aisle of
deception, i find my way to the back wall. i observe
what new colors the chemists have discovered, greens
that clean without actually doing anything, pink
that smears grease around in grape and orange
that should be drinkable. deadly, i know, i want
to know what color i burn after dumping a gallon
over my head and touching a blue plastic (non-bic)
lighter to my hair. i can burn like a fire
work for $1. $2 if you count that lighter.
for $2 i can be light. lighter than my cheap name.
another nightmare involving my mouth
content warning: written in response to my ptsd and sexual assault
last night i dreamt i came back. to the basement gymnasium in willard straight hall,
the scent of popcorn wafting from the second floor down the marble staircase. i came
back with my shinai in my teal bag, its weight pressing back against my closed fist.
in the basement there were mirrors lining every wall. the tape yellowing over nailheads,
just as i remembered the first time my bare feet hit the worn wood floor. these feet
were not made for dancing, or even kicking, just a deep sonkyo and off-balance kamae
that caused my opponent to knock me down the first strike at the harvard kendo shoryuhai,
the judges waving their flags so we could reset the match. in my dream it was just me
and jade. we stretched and talked like the title ix hearing had never happened, like i
had never deleted her number or saw her picture wearing my rapist’s purple just hit it
kendo shirt. i don’t remember what we talked about, only how we put on our tsuba
and got ready to do a practice spar. in the way of dreams, my armor was on me, tied
the way it should have been and not the way how i made up navy knots every practice.
and then he walked in. i tried to remember when i had forgiven him, but in my dream
brain it just made sense i would harbor no anger or upset. i didn’t try to avoid him,
but i didn’t approach him either. and then jade came up with a piece of metal. suddenly
it was in my open mouth and on my teeth, like i had braces again, only an absurd amount
of pressure on my gums. she told me i was fine. i was fine. my shinai was gone.
i kept the metal in my mouth when she was done and pushed it around with my tongue.
something from the top right back of my jaw detached, so i opened my mouth again
and she pushed it back in. suddenly i was in the waiting for a clinic, so that a doctor
could cement the metal onto my teeth. i walked out and it was twilight. the air was cold
against my skin under my hakama. i tried spitting. i thought i would spit brass, but
my saliva was thick and clear, like the trail of a lazy slug. everyone was gone. i was fine.
Hikari Leilani Miya is an LGBTQ Japanese-Filipina American who graduated from Cornell University in 2019 with a BA in English, and from University of San Francisco with an MFA in Creative Writing. She is a scholarship-awarded student in Florida State University’s PhD program in Creative Writing, where she is a member of the Asian American Student Union and Vice President of the university’s first Herpetology Club. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in dozens of in-print and online magazines across North America, including MacGuffin, Chestnut Review, Eunoia Review, Broadkill Review, and Cobra Milk. In 2021, she was a semi-finalist for the Red Wheelbarrow poetry prize judged by Mark Doty. Her first book of poems, sold out at AWP 2024, is published with Cornerstone Press. She currently lives in Tallahassee with her snakes, leopard gecko, and disabled cat, and volunteers at the Tallahassee Museum specializing in reptile care and handling. In addition to earning her master’s certification in herpetology from the Amphibian Foundation and certification in husbandry and captive management, she is a former health care worker, percussionist, pianist, and competitive card game player.