In the Future, We Held Each Other, and: Last Day Jane Wong (bio) In the Future, We Held Each Other In the future, we held each other like pea tendrils, trellised by breath, grief. And we kept holding, soupy sun spilling across our facesthe morning after heartbreak, after rage so thick we needed to help each other cough the grit out. We poured vinegar on the grit, softened itand put it in a jar. We held onto our names, called them back across so much migration and found characters barnacled in empty spaces. Our names were salty, but delicious. Our ghosts found stockpiles of abandoned superglue and started to piece back teeth, limbs, languages, bowls,countries. My grandmother glued back her jade necklace and pink sandals, stretched her anemone toes through the band like a very goodyawn. We gleamed in the holding, in the softening, a bee's coat patchworked with gilded lingering. We kissed and kissed and opened the jar. Last Day When I say my father gambledour restaurant away, I mean he hit the guardrail on the Jersey Turnpikeand did not see stars and engine smoke but aces andcigars and the wailing lights of [End Page 151] ambulatory slot machines. As helay in that ditch, I imagine the crushed soda can home ofsome mouse, shaking its little mouse fist at my father, bleary-eyed-dreamer, warbled-wrecker, saying what the fuck! That was myhome you smashed! A month later: stoves turned off, register emptied, fryerall flat with bits of burnt wontons like some galactic otherworldof grease. We all stood in front, fattened pigof hope: gone. My mother cut my hair right before the doorsclosed, ten inches of it, and I still don't know why. Shehanded me my braid, which I kept, ends sharp as skewers andheavy as a rack of ribs. [End Page 152] Jane Wong Jane Wong is the author of Meet Me Tonight in Atlantic City (Tin House, 2023), How to Not Be Afraid of Everything (Alice James, 2021), and Overpour (Action Books, 2016). Copyright © 2022 University of Nebraska Press