Angel & Hannah by Ishle Park (best romance ebooks TXT) 📕

perfect couplets,

terza rimas, quatrains, or strict form, because Life often spills

outside da lines! Just like paint, just like pain, papi ~ just like

there are no words in English to describe to you

da Han of Hannah’s parents ~ who carried memories

of war in their inner children, who as nail salon owners

would never have a chance to afford or go to therapy,

as they are country people of green valleys and full harvest moons,

all their golden beauty lost in cold white cities where their names

are butchered & mispronounced & made fun of daily,

while dollars still soften their callused hands. Hannah’s parents,

overworked & silently missing Soju nights

with watermelon & squid anju & singing Arirang

& Sarang~ga with drunk, sloppy, & happy

Koreans who look & sound just like them ~ a kind of heaven.

They miss that, but cannot articulate nostalgia (Corea) to their born~here~daughter~

the beloved mother~land they left behind to give her this,

swinging golf clubs with thwacking fury over manicured green lawns

so perfect they make a man believe he has freedom.)

They come home when late-night Letterman

blares with canned laughter, long after Hannah

makes her rice & kim & kimchee rolls & tucks

her younger sister into bed, long after all the train rides

and bus transfers & taxi rides that transport their daughter

to the quiet pockets in the playgrounds,

seaports, beaches, corners, stoops, tree stumps that her & her lover use

as backdrops to their quietly blooming romance.

It all starts with a dance, she sighs, in remembrance, she

loves the way he always holds her hand &

pretends to lay out magic carpets in the rain ~

she feels a cartoonish, ballooning, indescribable joy with him ~

her secret, sweet angel tucked in the silver wings of Brooklyn.

Train

She sings, I will love you anyway,

even if you cannot stay, echoing

Mary J as she waits for the R train,

voice husky as coarse grain.

Morning sun at Queensboro Plaza

casts slim white bars on the ground —

mute piano keys commuters pound

with shuffling, transient feet. Are

we all drifters, made of smoke?

She’s on her way

from Bayside to Bushwick,

four subway transfers, two hours away. She

prays for the G to come quickly. She starts to sing,

when the train steals her song with its metal wind.

Rivers

It’s always an adventure to go meet Angel. She prefers to travel

with a flock of her gold~hooped, gum~snapping, cute~curled girlfriends

for a double or group flirt~date instead of alone, becuz as a Chinita,

she has to keep her head humble & eyes down on da train,

not wanting to attract the glare of a jealous girl who may want to slice

her pretty cheek (slashings on da train were all da craze),

or a lurking subway creep. Sometimes tho, another boy

with a thick Nautica jacket & a sweet smile would slide

next to her, say, Hi mami ~ where you going?

And she’d have to balance friendly flirting

with a clipped response, strong but not too tough,

not enuf to be called a stuck-up b*tch or jumped.

Whoever he was would get a message when she said,

I’m going to see my man. Sometimes, they’d still escort her,

in that courteous, crowding way, until they finally gave way

when hearing Angel calling Oooooh oooooh for her down the street.

He reads her face in a second, ay ~ telepathic!, and she

can always tell when mistrust hardens his eyes. She rubs his shoulders

and runs her fingers slowly down the river of his lean, muscular back.

Vietnam

Puerto Rican girls cock hips. Roll eyes. Suck

teeth. Bump her shoulder hard on his block.

Once, Vanessa screamed at Hannah, Go back to Vietnam,

bitch, then turned to Angel and sobbed, Why? Why her? Why not me?

Angel stood, speechless. For him, it was no better.

Stone-faced, balding Chinos on the 7 train

drill holes in his head. Frown. Cock, train

their mouths like handguns ready to spit at him. Or her.

Sometimes, Hannah shifts in her hard orange seat.

Sometimes she throws her leg over his, spits back a stare,

kisses Angel with rough despair.

At home, in the shower, they take time

scrubbing each other’s limbs with care;

white lather, fingers buried in wet hair.

Saints

Angel always wore saints around his wrists

& neck. A gold cross & gold chain with Jesus,

escapularios & beads blessed by a Cuban babalao

given to him by his paralegal cousin Jessie,

and wooden bracelets painted with various haloed saints,

he’s blessed with many. He gently slips

one off his wrist and onto hers…mi amor,

mi luz, mi reina, he softly sings, makes her feel blessed,

sacred, sexy, and sweet. She wears

his gifts with gratitude, changes her attitude

from shy to strong, from soft to bold.

When he’s in the mood,

he traces her shoulder blades with sweet delight,

she shakes, shedding her scales

and blossoms into Woman in his light ~

grateful to be held & serenaded through the nights.

Hot Chips

They’re splayed in bed, watching The Simpsons.

She’s eating a ninety-nine-cent bag of Utz hot chips,

red dust coating her fingers. He’s unbuckled, hips

thrust up. Please. He grins. Please suck

it. No, she snaps. Not now. What

the fuck. She swats him, but his hand keeps

seeking hers. One minute. Ten seconds. Her lips

curl into a grin. Maybe. During a commercial…his luck,

Cheerios bounce on-screen. She groans, wipes her mouth,

ducks down. His feet shoot up like arrows

at the ceiling. Then, he twitches, drools,

throws her off. Stop, he cries. It burns! Hot…hot…hot chips! Dashes out

her room, bathes it in the sink. I’ll get the milk, she cries, and runs below.

Ahhh…He sighs, and dips. She punches him — that’s what you get, fool.

Adidas Prince

Underneath it all, Angel is a gentle man,

there’s a patience in how he courts her,

kneels on one knee to tie her Adidas laces,

even in front of his abuela & his little brother,

Rafi. She blushes, touched, stirred by how he bakes her a chocolate cake

for her sweet sixteen, clenches a rose between his teeth. Tender lover.

She loves how his swagger announces his divinity

at weekend dancehall clubs — he’d hold her hand

and dance for hours with her at Latin Quarters and the Copa,

then hit after~hours clubs like two hot whirlwinds of beauty and grace.

She’d plan elaborate lies to meet him.