You and I are sister cities, and we never visit, and we cannot
imagine this moment where our skies meet in the clutch, in the orange and blue,
in the language of hands exchanging letters, of fingers touching the same ‘I’ and ‘U’

All alone here, but we’re laughing, because we remember the other, and if the sun sets here it is rising there, and that is the joy of us, sister cities

We’re catching precious, living things

Women’s voices and melting ice cream and hopes like under-inflated balloons

Every day is the same, where we are in the ups and the downs, and your hair is threaded with poppies and mine is disheveled, slightly wet
with the rain, my nose in love with petrichor, my lungs giving into us

There’s a marching band through us, there is a parade in us, they are exploding and setting off fireworks of blue, and orange, and I’m thinking of you
my sister city, so far away, so everything

We are sister cities, by Brandon R. Chinn