This Way to the Sugar
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This Way to the Sugar - Hieu Minh Nguyen
Alexandria
BOY
My mother’s favorite story, a dull one, of course—
is that she did not scream during my birth,
instead dug her nails into her sister’s wrist, severing
a vein, and killing her—I’m only joking.
She lived. I did say this was her favorite story after all.
:::
They say if the mother is silent
during birth, then the child will grow
up without the ability to smell or decipher
maps, but will indeed grow up.
They say if the baby is born silent,
then it’s probably a faggot, or dead,
or will be eventually.
:::
He was a stupid child. Ate dirt they said. Ate glass
and people’s wallets. Kept a farm of cigarette butts
in his cheeks. Smelled like a highway,
but sounded like a boy.
Stood on the overpass and swore
he could hear her screaming.
I
"I’m not lost for I know where I am.
But however, where I am may be lost."
— A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
A/S/L
Tonight, I am unhooking my jaw.
I am telling him everything
he wants to hear. My breath fogging
up the computer screen like a wet ghost.
I am cracking open my lips with a cherry.
how old r u? I tell him I am 19—I am lying.
I am 14. I tell him my name is Steven—
that’s a nice name. I haven’t done this
before. He tells me he is 43. do u mind?
No. I tell him I am all alone. Painting
myself in leather and candle wax. Does that turn
you on? He thinks I smell like sweat
and mint. I am five inches taller, a hundred
pounds lighter. I have green eyes and copper hair.
I’ve been so naughty. I live next to an orchard
of white lies. I am plucking fuller lips off the vine,
covering my face, my thighs, fat in dirt. I am growing
a bigger dick. I am sending him pictures of strangers.
I don’t tell him I am soft. I don’t tell him about my history
homework. I tell him, I am typing with my tongue
I am so hard. Hanging my clothes out to dry
on a strand of drool. Only responding with Yes
and Yes and Yes. There’s no unwilling mouth.
I am spoon-feeding him
my right arm. I am only here to please, to moisturize
his palms, to spit-shine the screen. u r perfect. I am
picturing him faceless, in some dry town,
in a room thick with lights, masturbating
in front of a mirror, to nothing.
MCDONOUGH HOMES
The only thing that separated my house