by Sukayna Davanzo
Sunflowers but not their seeds. Sunsets, sunrises, the sun, some brands of suntan lotion. Bananas, vanilla cake, the inside of a mango. Melted butter, melted butter dripped over fried cauliflower, finished with a squeeze of lemon. Gold, hay, most corn, maybe wheat, pineapples. My favorite bottle of lemon-scented Lysol. The stereotypical rain coat. Bell peppers from our garden. Olive oil from Palestine. The heart of daisies, all of dandelions. Mustard, french fries, fairy lights, fire. Traffic lights but not cones; the popular brand of sticky notes. Saturn, Jupiter, stripes on Venus, streams of urine. Daffodils, bumblebees, wasps, the old taxis. Real New York license plates. The wallpaper from that one story. Rubber ducks, chicks, ducklings. A notebook, my childhood diary. The jersey of your babas favorite soccer team. Cheddar cheese. Buttered popcorn. You.Sukayna Davanzo (she/her) recently graduated from Oregon State University with an MFA in fiction. Her writing captures the love within the Arab American and Muslim community in Southeast Michigan.
January House Literary Journal 
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