THINGS THAT SEPARATE US

First has got to be the 38th parallel.
Your parents never got over the ceasefire,
which is why they went to dentist school
and you found no peace except in
pulsating echo beam parks where we traveled
through aortic valves and Ferris Wheels to reach
warm mornings in Central Park that remind me nowadays
of breaking fall in half and finding Starry Night in a corner
where it was much smaller than we imagined. Second:
Japanese class was a coincidence it turns out
you cut your bangs while raindrops are bigger in Florida
I see you sometimes but your face is missing
and we walk too fast past each other which is less painful
than the past. The final thing looks like
dimples and eye crinkles and Studio Ghibli socks
but she is new. Your aunt was in my dream last night.
I still have your cough drops.

Richard Liu is a sophomore at the University of Pennsylvania studying Business and Social Impact. He grew up in Arkansas and spent much of his early life exploring the wilderness that lay just twenty minutes outside of the city. His poetry focuses on the nuances and crinkles in human connections and what remains left behind. Outside of his work, he loves trying new restaurants, cooking, and playing soccer.