Breathe? // Indecipherable Runes

Breathe?

words by Anh Tim Phan

A pincer piercer crawls and stabs at my nose.
Will you help me get it off?

Diving headfirst into the pool of your childhood home.
Is the water here cold, deep, or shallow?

The sun is shining and I am with someone old this morning.
What should we get punch-drunk off of today?

I’ll leave soon to pick you up, I already made space for all your things.

Did you know I offered to drive, just so I can wave you bye?

 Time zones are time zones, and I set an alarm just to ask you before you sleep.

Was it warm, was your day okay.  Will you call your mother tonight?

I move away into a new apartment, the view is high and the air is sharp.
The people I meet here are nice, we get coffee and they ask: where are you from?                                    

Going to buy a thicker jacket, but I don’t know my way around.
What do you think I should do, if someone tries to rob me.  Run or fight?

We daytrip, hiking the mountains you told me about.

Taking some pictures to send to you, is it okay if I’m in them too?

Parrots in Thailand or pigeons in the Metro.

Are birds still just birds everywhere, or only between us?

I come back home tomorrow.

Did time fly.  Has anything changed at all?

Indecipherable Runes

words by Pauline Tsui

Prologue

There are moments in a life

that refuse translation.

They remain like runes

carved into stone—

precise,

permanent,

unreadable.

I have carried these runes

for years.

Turning them over in my hands

the way one might hold

a smooth stone from a river,

wondering

what language it once belonged to.

This is the closest I can come

to copying them down.

Pre-School

Red.

Yellow.

Blue.

The classroom bloomed

in plastic colors—

small tables, small chairs,

crayons worn down

to quiet stubs.

Everything felt warm.

There was a boy

I was mean to.

I now remember that more clearly

than the games we played.

Outside,

the playground blazed with color—

yellow slide,

blue poles,

red monkey bars.

Children climbed and shouted

like sparks in the sun.

I sat on the edge of the slide

watching,

already learning

how it felt

to exist just outside

the circle.

Speech Lessons

I do not remember

being different.

I only remember

being taken somewhere small.

A dim room.

Too quiet.

Her black glasses

caught the light.

A short brown bob.

A patient voice.

Say it again.

My mouth folding

around unfamiliar syllables.

Tongue,

teeth,

breath,

all rearranged.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Words repeating

until they stopped sounding

like words

and became only shapes

my mouth struggled to hold.

Teddy Bear

Soft brown fur.

The “Star Student”

took the bear home

for the week.

This time

it was mine.

I held it carefully,

as if it might notice

I didn’t quite belong.

A girl leaned close to my face,

loud, relentless.

Her voice filled the air

like buzzing trapped in a jar.

Why are you treating me this way?

The teacher turned toward me instead.

And somehow

the blame folded itself

into my hands.

I walked home with the teddy bear.

Its fur

was very soft.

Doors and Chargers

Voices breaking

through the house.

Sharp.

Hot.

I stood in the hallway

as if the floor

had grown roots

over my feet.

My chest burned.

My heart knocked

too hard

against my ribs.

Something flew,

a charger

cutting through the air.

It struck my father’s door

with a hollow scraping sound.

My tablet on the floor.

Gel pens scattered

like cold rain.

No one moved.

Purple

Her favorite color

was purple.

Purple backpack.

Purple bracelets.

Purple notebooks

filled with looping handwriting.

She was one of my closest friends.

Until one day

the thread snapped.

Messages sent.

Messages read.

Silence.

I replay old conversations

the way we used to replay

Beabadoobee songs

again and again,

listening

for the wrong note.

Isolation

The world

closed its doors.

Masks.

Empty hallways.

Quiet streets.

Everyone seemed

to change shape.

I remember staring

at my reflection

more often than before,

searching my own face

for some small answer.

What was it

that made people look at me

as though I had been placed

slightly out of alignment?

But then again—

who has ever truly resembled

anyone else?

Friends

A new circle.

New voices.

New laughter.

I hovered at the edges

until someone waved me closer.

For a while

it had felt like warmth.

Then whispers.

A message passed

between them

that never reached me.

When I asked

what was wrong

someone shrugged.

Just deal with it a little longer.

So I stayed.

I laughed when they laughed.

I nodded when they spoke.

Better to bruise quietly

than return

to the cold room

of being alone.

UVA

Wahoo.

The word echoes everywhere

on banners,

on shirts,

in the air between strangers.

Somehow

I made it here.

Brick paths.

Old trees.

Students rushing past

with purpose.

Their futures

stretching ahead of them

like open roads.

I curl around them

like a question mark.

So many people.

So many directions

a life could take.

And still

I stand in the middle of it all

trying to understand

what shape

my own life

is supposed to become.

Epilogue

These moments remain with me like runes 

carved into stone.

Sharp.

Permanent.

Unreadable.

I turn them over in my mind

again and again,

searching for a translation.

But perhaps

not every mark

was meant to become a sentence.

Perhaps some memories

exist only to be carried

quietly,

carefully—

like symbols

we spend a lifetime

learning

how to hold.