<html class="apple-mail-supports-explicit-dark-mode"><head><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body dir="auto"><div dir="ltr"><span style="font-size: 22px;">July 28</span><div style="font-size: 22px;"><br></div><div style="font-size: 22px;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">will i remember moments like this, standing on grass, the sky yawning over me</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">swahili beating out of speakers, dancing with a crowd of strangers</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">wondering how love has done nothing more to my body other than deform</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">the left side of my chest</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">will i remember brooklyn, the shocking beauty of a lighted train</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">running above ground and against the sky, before night wraps around fulton</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">an old woman kissing the bus driver’s cheek</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">green tennis balls poured over the courts on malcolm x</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">a little Black girl i do not know shouting adios amigo as she crosses the street</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">the smell of a roti shop, silk sliding on my arms</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">yellow kitchens, guavas and parathas</span></div><div style="font-size: 22px;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br></span></div><div style="font-size: 22px;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Akwaeke Emezi</span></div></div></body></html>