WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 2

What is a new year

when it’s all filled with the same shit?

Alarm.

Toast.

Bus.

Grease stain on khakis.

Fluorescent hallway.

Mrs. Fisher.

The always-open door.

Blake Felipe, her perfect smile.

But then there is Geneva,

waiting by my locker,

Tupperware filled with a pale

something, sprinkled with pistachios—

malai laddu, she says,

her dad’s recipe. Her eyes

and it

are sweet, a gift

for the New Year.

Then there’s Deja,

hip-bumping me in the hall

between classes, smile

like fresh snow.

Friday! she says.

Dr. Kareem’s group!

It’s going to be cool.

Her excitement is a virus

I don’t mind catching—

I forget to put up my mask

against it.