Will You Make Me Love You?

Newton Tran

Will you make me love you,
And your livable wage,
Your stability?
I thought I could roar fire from my bare hands,
With any quantifiable spark fanned,
Cement bricks with the Legos of love I used to learn.

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When will you hate me,
Which future for which you’ve penciled me—
After the sweet smell of Christmas cookies sours,
Before we eulogize the death of your Valentine’s flowers,
The moment the final note of a Happy Birthday fades
Into another year of complaisance?

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Are we impulsive,
As I revere your realistic love—
Your names I hadn’t been called,
Places my hands haven’t walked,
As I dread three-word sentences
I know will uncover my guilt?