when my favourite auntie

tells me

about being sixteen

in the first years

of the internet

 

she speaks of

dial-up hymns,

the modem’s long impatient song

like waiting for a lover

to pick up the phone.

 

in those days

girls walked the mall

in slow circles

holding orange julius cups

sweating sugar

 

trying on the same denim jacket

twenty-seven times

only to leave it hanging

behind the navy blue curtains.

 

at night they waited

for the family computer

to stop screaming

and sat cross-legged

on carpet

 

watching the blue glow

of a screen

as if it were

a small aquarium

where strange fish of text swam.

 

inside it

boys with usernames

sent pixelated hearts

someone always knew

someone who vanished

 

someone who drove

three hours

to meet a stranger

behind a shopping mall

 

someone who came back

with a milkshake

a free pizza coupon

and a story.

 

my auntie laughs

says the chat rooms

were full of prophets

everyone promising

to meet tomorrow

 

but for the while

the fridge hummed

the family dog

slept under the desk

and outside

apples fell

from the tree

 

no serpent

just gravity

infinite lives

queued carefully

inside the blinking machine.

 

she explains that

there was a girl

who ate six free samples

of bourbon chicken

 

then disappeared

into the parking lot

with a boy

who owned a bright red pontiac

no one saw her again

after october.

 

today

my friend sits beside me

on the bus

scrolling

 

she shows me

a girl in arizona

who ate soap

on camera

four million people

watching

 

on that point

is another one’s purity

compared to something

that you could devour

and rinse away.

 

meanwhile

we sit together

thumbs moving quickly

through this enormous orchard

 

each notification

another gorgeous fruit

another bite

and somewhere

deep in the circuitry

 

the old story

breathes again

a garden

a girl

a tree

 

a piece of sweetness

held for a moment

in her hands

before the world

enters her mouth.