Cindy Ko

you think you know someone and then you find out they play the erhu

you're sitting on the bed, with nothing
but the python skin box of the instrument
covering your nakedness
like an austin powers movie montage. it’s touching
your hip and I am sitting below you
on my naked heels, pushing
a plastic brush through my matted hair
of strands dropping all around me
一根一根一根
as you play some plaintive songs.
you’re squeezing strings and rubbing
some historical memory—
as I add the hollow sound of the bristles
as they tug down on my scalp.
you press.
I brush.
you press.
I brush.
and as your fingers stroke lower,
and lower, I shift
and this soft Friday morning
trains off into the weekend.