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O Heat We Protest In
by Troy Osaki

We sit on a curb--Diego dizzy. Our shirts soaked in July
 
            ​sweat since K St. We count how often Dupont Circle pants
 
out of breath. Bernadine, behind us, hums on the burnt
 
            sidewalk--won over by it all. Union Station’s stuffy tunnels,
 
its underground fans swirling hot air. We shimmer
 
            midsweat when she tells us she belongs here. Her shoulders
 
wilting in wet heat, boiled cement, a summer licked
 
            in lightning. Maybe--the front lawn of the White House.
 
Our spit tangled in its trimmed grass. She’s sincere
 
            the way I’ve seen her before, once, in my apartment.
 
Tote bag tossed onto her arm, the front door nudged
 
            open, gently. Her, leaving soon. Then, between us, a house
 
moth fluttering. Her soft admission--it’s her lolo &
 
            I’m meeting him for the first time. Dust falling from his
 
moth-wings. The hallway light, a field from our
 
            grandparents’ province flowering across our faces.

Troy Osaki is a Filipino Japanese poet, organizer, and attorney from Seattle, WA. A three-time grand slam poetry champion, he has earned fellowships from Kundiman, Hugo House, and the Jack Straw Cultural Center. His work has appeared in Hobart, the Margins, [PANK], Poetry Northwest, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. He writes in hopes to build a safe and just place to live in by uniting the people and reimagining the world through poetry.
ISSN 2157-8079
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