nausea

i.

before she left for work, mother sprayed her perfume at the door and said, "it's a waste, to spray it just after i've dressed, because the scent will have faded by the time i've done my hair and i'll just have to spray it again."


ii.

black branches are painted on the pale sky, and the sun is a dim beacon beneath a bed of low-hanging clouds; i crane my neck, aware of the sloshing sounds my steps make when i dizzily stray onto the host's lawn, soaking my socks.


iii.

"i never liked these," my sister told me, pointing at her new shoes. they were red balletflats embellished by gold embroidery and plastic diamonds. "i bought them because mami liked them. they're ugly, no?"


iv.

smoke from my cigarette is caught by the humidity, lingering around my head like an omen; the porch groans, saturated with rainfall, loathsome of my weight. i go inside, back to the party.


iii.

tia tasha sprayed her perfume twice, and i repeated what mother said; tia said mother was always more prudent but kind of a bitch. "she just has to know it all, doesn't she?"


v.

i ash on the couch and burn a hole in the white leather upholstery; i don't remember whose couch i'm sitting on, but a woman who smells like perfume yells at me, and i stare through her.


vi.

"you're lucky you're a boy," my sister groaned; she lay on the couch, swollen with cramps and flushed miserable. papi's sweater hung around her like a blanket.


vii.

i wonder how many times she sprayed her perfume and stare through her, ashing on the floor instead.