THIRII MYO KYAW MYINT

The day I walked into the village by myself and I did not speak French and it was fine because the village was dead and only the dogs were left, only their piss and excrement and the dogs were throwing their bodies against the cages and the last peasant had died in his broken car and I walked back to the estate by myself and the children were playing ping pong in the garden and the adults were eating cheese and in the village there had been a small graveyard and in the estate there were seventeen bedrooms and mine was the largest and I stuffed all my ghosts there.

The lowest level of hell is a cube buried deep in the earth. A cube to me and a ghost to you and also a deprivation chamber we enter to be in love. In this chamber we share one silver mask between us. We delete our faces. When I delete my face I am beautiful, like the perfect number. When you delete your face you grow seven more and one is a mirror, a black mirror that is a screen. A pyramid is drawn on your right side. I reach my hand through and pull out your shining snakes. The wall of ice advances. Your pyramid bleeds.

Because there were masked protestors on market street and the evening commuters were crowded at the corner. Because Erin burned the corn on a cob and I wiped butter on my shorts. Because of the party at Arune’s house where I was that girl by the salsa bowl, and Annie was playing the ukelele on the balcony and I wanted to push her over. Because my bike was locked to a fence and the fence was falling over. Because we couldn’t find a light and I suggested burning the house down. Because this summer there is another train, and new poems to live in. Because, they say, desire is full of endless distances. Because the diameter of the earth and half its circumference must be close enough. Because I didn’t get to swim in Trakai but the naked little boy did. Because I bought a yellow scarf with tables on it. Because I left that scarf on the sofa and Ieva wears it now. Because the rain flooded Providence and I was scared of the gutters. Because a girl fell into the gutters once. Because you were drunk that night and bought a bus pass from the junky at the stop. Because she liked my singing voice. Because it was summer in California but we were dreaming anyway. Because everyone or no one deserves to be loved. Because we lay down on the grass but there were no stars, and no one wanted to smoke. Because her dad died. Because all nights are one night. Because it is always summer. Because I ran down three blocks to meet you, but it was too late. Because you were not in a mood to talk. Because the human chain stretched over three nations and that unity is gone now. Because the fireworks on the sidewalk sounded like gunshots. Because I had only four hours left in the city. Because I bought a whole box of matches and only used one.  Because the candles were still burning when the taxi came.

Thirii Myo Kyaw Myint is the author of the novel THE END OF PERIL, THE END OF ENMITY, THE END OF STRIFE, A HAVEN (Noemi Press 2018). Her short stories have appeared in Black Warrior Review, TriQuarterly, and Kenyon Review Online, among others, and has been translated into Burmese and Lithuanian. She is currently a Ph.D. candidate in creative writing at the University of Denver, and the Reviews, Interviews & Translations editor of the Denver Quarterly.