A Country You Can Leave

by Asale Angel-Ajani

I know what it’s like to wear the impoverished absence of anyone’s care.

I don’t understand poetry. It’s like walking into the middle of a dinner party and sitting off to the side, eating cold food.

I understand our friendship has an expiration date. Maybe all friendships do.

California’s desert air in winter grips with the surprising force of an old woman on her deathbed.

And I gain more understanding of how weakness repels.