Mirage

Some days, cracks in the earth become faults,your fault or mine, and you don’t knowwhether to expect earthquakes or lava,but it’s both, rumbling and hissing inside you.Some days, space twists and warps and notin the way you had hoped because the starsare no closer but your front door feels distant.Some days, music decomposesinto noise, sunlight rots and darkens,sleep is just getting swallowed by a swamp.Other days, you breathe like it’s your first time,your feet learning to tread on quicksand,your eyes seeing sparkles in the desert, afraidit’s a mirage, and it is, but one where a burning sunis a friend’s arm on your back, where a cactus’s spinesfeel softer than a kitten’s fur—it’s no beach, but you don’t miss the waterbecause it would only remind youthis is one long watery breathbefore you’re pulled under again.Ian Li (he/him) is a Chinese-Canadian economist, developer, writer, and poet, who started writing in late 2023 after a lifetime of believing he could never be creative. Find…