Paper Can Only Be Folded Seven Times, and Other Inconveniences
Sometimes, at the intersection
of Lewis, the light turns green
just as the train stops traffic.
Sometimes I let the mug run cold,
leave the tea bag steeping
til it’s gone bitter.
Sometimes I see your lips
in a dream and I am sick
from picturing what might’ve been.
All this love
with nowhere to go—
a piece of paper
on its seventh fold.
*
Allison Mei-Li is the author of A History of Holding, founder of Third Moon Press, and a reader for The Turning Leaf Journal. Her poems have appeared in anthologies, podcasts, and publications such as Rust + Moth, Sky Island, and MER Literary. She lives in Southern California, where she hosts poetry-centered gatherings in-person and online.
