there was a super moon
driving up to your house
but I still want to keep
my porch lights on in case
someone tries to kick me in tonight.
the rabbit’s side profile shines
on the gaping pores on my right cheek.
I’m screaming to the rabbit, asking
why my craters can’t be filled
into something desirable.
a foundation that I don’t wear
that makes my face lighter than the rest of my body.
olive is a weird way to describe skin tone.
I reek of vinegar and touch like rice paper in between the thumb and pointer.
but bleach burned when I cleaned out the sinks the other day
and bleach burned when it seeped through my clothes
and bleach burned when it rubbed against my chest
and bleach burned when it rubbed against my body.
what else could I expect of it though
an infatuation with the idea of my skin
and how malleable the idea and the concept can be
there are times I stretch to see how far I can truly go.
it’s no longer a super moon
I’m still screaming
no longer for the holes in my face
or the roses embedded in my cheeks
I’m just screaming.
About Julia Kinu
Julia Kinu is a queer, non binary, Japanese/Jewish american, cancer sun, fruit hating, starburst addicted, vintage match book collecting, dry skin having poet, based in Tucson, AZ. Their chapbook, OJIICHAN OMIYAGE, debuted in December 2020 with Sprawl Press. The collection navigates the complexities of two generations of Japanese heritage – the millennial diaspora and the elderly native. Their work has been featured in Forklift Ohio, Leopardskins & Limes, VIDA, and others. They earned their BA in creative writing at the University of Arizona. They were the founder and host of the Owls Club POC Poetry Series, dedicated to lifting voices of those in the local community and the education that those voices offer. They are a poet of many backgrounds, but that shouldn’t matter if you like the work.