Chai by Kait Forest

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I bite
an urge and
my tongue stops
a name
–on a hot day
in June he slides
up my dress and I smash his
hand on my thigh. I think
about my words before I speak.
if not I will say
what I habituate
like warmth and
skin and names.
don’t you like it? he asks.
I like chai. I ask
the barista what she likes most
and she says, I don’t know,
have you had matcha?
it’s earthy. I imagine eating
dirt. not bad, she says, and sometimes
it’s sweet. I order chai. everyday
I order chai. at home we open
the windows and let the wind blow
the heat over our bodies
like a slow fan, but there is no fan,
I tell him to buy one and
he says maybe. maybe instead
we could read at a coffee shop
across from each other in the
cold. and I could rub my hands on your
legs and you could kiss me.
while there
the table separates us and
he can only touch me
by reaching. his hands tire and he
reads and I drink chai,
move a name around my mouth
but don’t let it leave. in any life
I am a liar. the lie is
a name and
after long
smokes the body
of reason.

Kait Forest

Kait is an obscure riverside city dweller with a useless fiction degree. Sometimes she writes but most times she sleeps. Fond of corner tables in coffee shops near windows and foreign dramas and tossed paperbacks. She has been featured in Persephone’s Daughters, and currently resides on their editing and film devision teams. :