love story in question.

by Disha Trivedi

if I’m sad at night, and can’t stop crying, do you want me
to wake you up? by which I mean, is it okay
to wake you up? by which I mean,
I want to ask forgiveness, not permission. if I’m tired
in my thirties, and we’re still together,
and I can’t fathom giving up my body
to host another creature’s body,
can we not have children?
by which I mean, can I be honest,
not resentful? if I’m sick—
and I help myself when I get sick—
but I want someone to put a cold cloth on my eyes,
can I call you? can I bring you here
at risk of chep? if I’m struggling with English
and summon words from childhood,
or if I’m struggling with language, because
my native tongue is thought, is it okay to go quiet?
to risk you thinking you’ve done some wrong?
or would you rather that I try explaining? by which I mean,
I will frame a question
with another question.
by which I mean, I’ll ask a something
that strands a larger something.
by which I mean, I won’t make sense
as much as we desire. by which I mean,
I hope you still desire me by the question’s ending.

Disha Trivedi is from northern California. Her poetry and fiction appear in The Shore, Rust & Moth, The Women’s Issue anthology from The Harvard Advocate, and elsewhere.