A xenon taste left on my tongue,
An electric scent, a terrifying sound.
The veneers on my smile smell like my cheerios
That I pretend to eat every morning.
Oracle oriented thinking laid out on the table,
piě *left*, nà *right*, piě *left*, nà *right*,
I think to myself, an ancient tradition:
I could only hope to understand the mysteries of.
I wish my grandmother (man vecsmāta) would sing again
Aijā žūžū floods my auditory memories.
The blue light she’d shine,
just for the safety of our Troopers.
By Joseph Felker
Art by Diana Ryu