Olivia Sio Tse
THIS PLATINUM FANDOM
A sink for you and a sink for me. The dream
is to scrub in tandem, or take turns with one
hand per basin, both faucets foaming. Perched
like cowbirds with my sister painting nails, toes
in green apple lather. Two red pleather beanbag
chairs, one Imagitarium Fish Tank, one Chef’s
Star Tiered Chocolate Fountain. Half a bottle
of canola oil gets it going, dip anything you like.
The fountain came out for dinners with Bobby’s
family. Once we ran around playing tag until
Bobby puked chunks of pork dumpling our moms
had rolled on the granite counter. Stamped skins
with Pampered Chef cookie cutters sold by Liz
next door, pressed filling between chatter. Cleaned
it up and continued to play. Played to last a lifetime.
We front-flipped into Bobby’s pool under the loquat
tree, then back to our own two-seater bathroom
to rinse. It’s privilege having our new, one-story
home, my mother said. Not up and down stairs
like mules, see all our things without frontier. Eat
the loquats before they rot, swim hard before the
waters drain. Wash with soaps like candy, mistake
a mine for a yours. We had allegiance to the Spurs.
I couldn’t follow the plays but I could feel the lilt
of the room when my parents leaned into the TV
with slices of Sara Lee pound cake balanced over
their knees. They took us to a game, where still
we watched Duncan from a screen above, but
at least we were all one room. I thought he sunk
the impossible three-point shots for us. Impossibly
alive, the Imagitarium Tank fish never slept and
danced dutifully to LED, soft shadows on printed
ocean wall. My brother was so seized by the plastic
clownfish that we kept finding it under his pillow.
Years later, the Spurs won another championship
and I posted a photo of Duncan:
Spurs nation forever <3
the caption said. A blonde girl Camille who I had
played soccer with replied:
lol are u even a fan
It meant nothing to her to say it, her Americanism
coiled inside her curls, lodged into her cleats, so
redundant it was bonded to her sweat and spit. How
could I explain to her that we mixed our own
like oil in the chocolate fountain, gulped it up
from Bobby’s pool, sucked it raw from the loquat
fruit until there was only pit. Did she not believe
I loved:
my Spurs
my silver
my Americanism?
Sweet tea, unbending Texas skies, so wide
they could almost reach around.
OLIVIA SIO TSE is a poet from Texas and a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Cream City Review, Denver Quarterly, and Second Factory.
