Rinn smiled. She really was made of sunshine when she smiled, but Imogen wasn’t filled with envy at the sight anymore. Sunshine could be a calming and soothing presence. And there was no use resenting the sun for what it did best.

“The nice thing about social feeds is, you can always pick them up when you want. I know people say that social media is out to destroy us and we’re all going in for the likes and the instant gratification.” Rinn was walking briskly now. Approaching the line of people who were waiting in the retractable barriers that she’d set up. “And I get that, I really do. But it’s also about connection and meeting people and reaching out. I think people want to blame technology because it amplifies what we already are. Humans are vain and selfish, and we’re constantly jockeying for position on a scale that doesn’t really matter and doesn’t really exist. But we’re also kind and we also share and connect and create communities across borders. Both are happening. It’s all happening.”

Imogen stared for a moment, then smiled at Rinn. “Yeah, I definitely need to watch your channel.”

They were almost there, to the front of the line. But as Imogen’s own anxiety was ramping up, Rinn kept firing off questions.

“What do you like to read?”

“Mostly poetry,” said Imogen. “My mother taught me to love poetry, and now I’m stuck with it, I guess.”

“But there’s so many kinds of poetry! Shakespeare’s poetry. So’s Rupi Kaur. There’s beat poetry and novels in verse. There’s stories you can only tell with poems. There’s also the early nineties stuff, like Suheir Hammad.”

“You know Suheir Hammad?” Imogen had never met anyone who wasn’t Palestinian who knew about her. She was like this great guarded secret. Of diaspora, of the American experience. Of colorism. Of the eliding ways that white supremacy affected immigrants.

Rinn smiled, completely nonplussed by the series of assumptions that Imogen kept throwing at her. “Sure do. Though I do have to give my librarian credit for that one. When I was diving into poetry so I could understand it better, she recommended her to me. She saw I was looking for Own Voices poetry. There’s something in there, isn’t it? It’s like I’ve been haunted. She makes me feel like I’ve been haunted, but also, like I’m not alone for it.”

“Yeah, like she’s been talking to the jinn or something.” Imogen hadn’t meant to say it like that. Hadn’t meant to lay it all out there like that. It was just that once she got started talking about poetry, all sorts of feelings came out.

Rinn stared for a moment. “Yes. It’s exactly like that.”