May you forget the murky water served on that boat 
the one where you ate shrimps with heads still on 
where you gained admission to an all-you-can-eat 
sushi restaurant but couldn’t finish 
Paid in yuan and vomit 

Remember the house with an unexpected tea shop 
in the back, trampled sugar packets 
bitter dark tea in paper cups
a long walk home in warm rain

Forget the time he took a photo of you 
late at night, smile big
You’re seventeen so he won’t kiss you
but he’ll wait.

Toast to this trip at your wedding 
Think about your groom (n.)
Curse this trip at your divorce
Think about grooming (v.)

Remember: he was a blip on that trip 
There was also koi ponds and the desperation
of hungry fish, little flowers painted on crimson nails
steps of the Great Wall on a foggy day 
that ceramic vase you were gifted 
for luck.
​​
Vanessa R. Bradley (she/her) loves fantasy novels but manages to write a lot of poetry about divorce and discovering queerness. She lives in Epekwitk (Prince Edward Island) with her wife, where she is working on a fantasy novel and a collection of poetry about the meaning of flowers. She has been published with The Farside Review, The Adriatic Mag, Tilted House, The Wild Word, Blank Spaces Magazine, and On Loan from the Cosmos. Find her on Instagram @v.r.bradley and on Twitter @vanessarbradley.
image: robert wiedemann via unsplash