Your carís tiny inside
lights are exposed
to the outside dark.
Is there anything more
comfortable than to wait
in a parking lot. What
you ask me, is the most
intimate moment
youíve ever shared
with another being?

I can see by the tiny
light that this is one
of those questions
you ask to give your
own urgent answer.
I donít know I say,
picturing both of us
naked in the car, then
in his last year, my
shaking grandfather
at the toilet. His hand
on my shoulder. You
wait the right amount
of time to speak, but
ask another question.
There are so many
ways to be weak.


Cameron Quan Louie is from Tucson. You can find his work in The Gravity of the Thing, Duende, jubilat, Timber, Hobart, Sonora Review, and others. He is currently working on a book-length erasure of an evangelical pamphlet from the 1950s.