Cristina Lai
Cristina Lai (she/her/hers) is a writer from New York. Her work has been published by Broken Sleep Books and in Honey Literary.
Relative Velocity
I spent the spring of thirteen with a cat’s eye marble balanced between my uneven molars
green, like the grass-stained tongues of the geese
hissing at me as they darted through the fields next to the middle school track where I ran, dodging their gashed black beaks and mud-emerald shit smeared across the painted, pounded polyurethane
my body tangled like a loose daisy chain, folding over at the waist,
knotted at the lips as I swallowed the sounds of thawing
the next year, I joined the lacrosse team
learned to bite down and yell around a mouthful of hard plastic
how to cradle something tightly before letting it go
nothing was rightfully ours, then, and so everything was
distance only existed to be closed:
legs, churning as we sprinted across the field
leaving behind the worn hems of our ponytails and polyester skirts unfurling in our wake
and fingers, reaching – smoothing over the seams of tan lines across sore shoulders
tracing the grooves branding our foreheads and untilled cheeks
it was spring again, after all. the geese knew better than to come near us then,
ivy-limbed girls, hollering while we chased each other – as if being heard was itself the victory;
cleats ripping into soft earth, chlorophyll painting our lips sage with triumph;
running,
running, just to feel the joy of not being hunted
green, like the grass-stained tongues of the geese
hissing at me as they darted through the fields next to the middle school track where I ran, dodging their gashed black beaks and mud-emerald shit smeared across the painted, pounded polyurethane
my body tangled like a loose daisy chain, folding over at the waist,
knotted at the lips as I swallowed the sounds of thawing
the next year, I joined the lacrosse team
learned to bite down and yell around a mouthful of hard plastic
how to cradle something tightly before letting it go
nothing was rightfully ours, then, and so everything was
distance only existed to be closed:
legs, churning as we sprinted across the field
leaving behind the worn hems of our ponytails and polyester skirts unfurling in our wake
and fingers, reaching – smoothing over the seams of tan lines across sore shoulders
tracing the grooves branding our foreheads and untilled cheeks
it was spring again, after all. the geese knew better than to come near us then,
ivy-limbed girls, hollering while we chased each other – as if being heard was itself the victory;
cleats ripping into soft earth, chlorophyll painting our lips sage with triumph;
running,
running, just to feel the joy of not being hunted
Commentary
Cristina Lai on “Relative Velocity”:
Poetry, to me, is a place to explore and acknowledge the significance of a moment, a memory, a feeling; to confront and honor how something permeates through your body. Working on this poem allowed me to return to specific moments from my adolescence that have stuck with me after all these years and consider them more deeply. In writing, I started with the tangible memories that appear in the piece – the geese, the grass, even the marble. I focused at first on the physicality of these experiences, and it took some time for me to dig further into what gave them such staying power in my body and mind beyond a general sense of nostalgia. As I explored these memories and the emotions I associated with them, I found that they were grounded by sentiments and desires of that age that I had never properly allowed myself to give voice to. Specifically, there was a connection between my years of middle school athletics and the tentative boundaries of my selfhood as a teenage girl – how the hazy awareness of things changing outside of my control made me feel lonely and afraid, and how much I wished to feel victorious over something, anything, in my life. The ability to act on that want can be a meaningful thing — there’s something special about a space just for girls to play, to be audacious, to celebrate even the smallest triumphs. Even the vulnerability of connection and dependence can be considered a conquest against all odds. I don’t think I would have been able to so clearly identify what such a space looked like in my life if not for the process of working on this poem.
Assitant Editor Lytey Kay on “Relative Velocity”:
Lai’s “Relative Velocity” swept me up in its nuanced momentum and lively imagery. The slow and breathless read of long lines, like a slow-motion replay, set the tone and scene. I was put in a state of pondering speed and the cause and effect of how we move, our bodies in particular, through the world. The relationship between all the alive and moving parts around us. The poem speaks to an eternal human longing to understand why we are who we are and to share our stories. I revel in the end where it seems the speaker has found a medium to take back their power from the “cause” that set their previous course and forges ahead, blazing their own path, running as in freedom.
Poetry, to me, is a place to explore and acknowledge the significance of a moment, a memory, a feeling; to confront and honor how something permeates through your body. Working on this poem allowed me to return to specific moments from my adolescence that have stuck with me after all these years and consider them more deeply. In writing, I started with the tangible memories that appear in the piece – the geese, the grass, even the marble. I focused at first on the physicality of these experiences, and it took some time for me to dig further into what gave them such staying power in my body and mind beyond a general sense of nostalgia. As I explored these memories and the emotions I associated with them, I found that they were grounded by sentiments and desires of that age that I had never properly allowed myself to give voice to. Specifically, there was a connection between my years of middle school athletics and the tentative boundaries of my selfhood as a teenage girl – how the hazy awareness of things changing outside of my control made me feel lonely and afraid, and how much I wished to feel victorious over something, anything, in my life. The ability to act on that want can be a meaningful thing — there’s something special about a space just for girls to play, to be audacious, to celebrate even the smallest triumphs. Even the vulnerability of connection and dependence can be considered a conquest against all odds. I don’t think I would have been able to so clearly identify what such a space looked like in my life if not for the process of working on this poem.
Assitant Editor Lytey Kay on “Relative Velocity”:
Lai’s “Relative Velocity” swept me up in its nuanced momentum and lively imagery. The slow and breathless read of long lines, like a slow-motion replay, set the tone and scene. I was put in a state of pondering speed and the cause and effect of how we move, our bodies in particular, through the world. The relationship between all the alive and moving parts around us. The poem speaks to an eternal human longing to understand why we are who we are and to share our stories. I revel in the end where it seems the speaker has found a medium to take back their power from the “cause” that set their previous course and forges ahead, blazing their own path, running as in freedom.