Company
︎︎︎ Cynthia Chen
︎ Apr 24, 2025
Our mode of transportation in a foreign nation
is trying
And pretending to be acquainted with the curbside gardens.
We travel to study inventive ways of drinking water,
of turning
the ordinary into the memorized.
There are small changes in the vessel, carbonation with citronella,
manipulating
the way our bodies process routines festively.
Time is killed not by plans but
happenings
endured through adjacent ankles and intersecting breaths like in a car crash.
To skillfully merge into the city we strategize,
walking
to the ice rink where shrieks carry ecstasy in fear.
Instead of landing we jump up to produce styles
of falling
fallen as a stylistic moment between us.
We contaminate the city
by singing
tunes like rupturing mountains.
Our fascination with landscapes is determined by their amorphousness,
not resembling
any named objects or feelings.
The kitchen is our resort for amusement and risk,
mislabeling
bottles and cans to reserve unasked pleasures for necessary times.
You convinced me our reception of smell is conditional, that
inhaling
is an act of learning, like remembering a speech from a dream.
But for now, seal your mouth while
keeping
my head in between your knees as I wonder—
How much novelty is a novel for us? How many events before
we reach
the eventual?
we stay faithfully still only to
let
us find the alien figure on our upside-down faces.
is trying
And pretending to be acquainted with the curbside gardens.
We travel to study inventive ways of drinking water,
of turning
the ordinary into the memorized.
There are small changes in the vessel, carbonation with citronella,
manipulating
the way our bodies process routines festively.
Time is killed not by plans but
happenings
endured through adjacent ankles and intersecting breaths like in a car crash.
To skillfully merge into the city we strategize,
walking
to the ice rink where shrieks carry ecstasy in fear.
Instead of landing we jump up to produce styles
of falling
fallen as a stylistic moment between us.
We contaminate the city
by singing
tunes like rupturing mountains.
Our fascination with landscapes is determined by their amorphousness,
not resembling
any named objects or feelings.
The kitchen is our resort for amusement and risk,
mislabeling
bottles and cans to reserve unasked pleasures for necessary times.
You convinced me our reception of smell is conditional, that
inhaling
is an act of learning, like remembering a speech from a dream.
But for now, seal your mouth while
keeping
my head in between your knees as I wonder—
How much novelty is a novel for us? How many events before
we reach
the eventual?
we stay faithfully still only to
let
us find the alien figure on our upside-down faces.
Cynthia Chen is a writer and editor based in New York City, originally from Shanghai.