Chapter

The air in here is a lie

of citrus spray over old, stale smoke.

I was looking for the delivery menu

but the drawer only held this.

Black faux-leather, corners rubbed white,

tucked behind a plastic bag of ice.

Inside the cover, someone named 'Ray'

wrote August 12th in a shaky, blue ink

that’s bled into the genealogy of kings.

The pages are thin as a moth’s wing.

They curl back against my palm,

greasy from the humidity and the heat.

I don’t need the verses. I just keep

staring at the date, wondering if Ray

found whatever it was he was looking for

before the checkout time.