On our first date, I throw crumbs to water-
fowl. She says bread makes birds sick,
It’s like junk food for them. Don’t
let them eat the crust.
On our second date, he pushed fingers in, and I
thinking it was the same
anodyne reflection on convenience
On the third date, they saw
a daughter, profligate-grey, who would
in park-side deli find porcelain jowl. Lucid
lettered feather parka, freezing
the stuff of one-liners.
In the shallows, recall a lone cat-
calling out for touch.
walking moth to lighthouse, I must be still
reminded the thing I crave is not
what I deserve
—nine hallowed months
of breaths for a match burning
Isabel Yang (they/her) is a queer writer who lives and writes in and around Edmonton on Treaty 6 territory. Born in Wuhan, China, they immigrated to Canada as a child. At present, Isabel is completing a Bachelor of Arts at the University of Alberta. Isabel’s work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in publications such as Room and Glass Buffalo. They can be found online @sblyang.