First Taste

18 months old,
She tastes a
strawberry,
Between her naïve lips.

She giggles at its
sweetness.
Chews for a
second
Crinkles Her nose at the
seeds.

Mom looks away for just a
moment
She shoves the whole strawberry
with both hands in her
mouth
Furry leaves
make
her spit it out.

She takes a bite of a second strawberry.
This time she leaves the stem.

The Haphazard Ballerina

Her hair is wild, absolutely untamable,

And mischievous brown eyes flash

Between the tangles of silky brown strands.

The woman behind the microphone sings

Of love,

heartbreak.

And the little girl spins, flails, leaps

Weaving precariously between couples holding each other close,

Oblivious to the toes she is nearly crushing,

The peace she is disturbing.

Women peer over their husband’s shoulders

Some scorning the whirlwind of chaos

Some laughing to themselves

But all envying the utter lack of grace,

The ultimate display of care-free

The fragile dance of freedom and youth.

what five years have taught me simply

she leans over the cool, round table
in the corner of the writing center,
her back to the windows.
she is wearing sneakers,
trousers, a gold bracelet and a
windbreaker, her eyebrows drawn
on crookedly and her clothes stinking of
stale cigarettes. she is older than my
mother.
i take my seat, look to her face.
her morning's eyeliner has smudged badly
behind her square glasses. and i
ask her, what can i help you with,
while i watch her. she
peers into my eyes for a moment, and in thick
tones of greek, tries to explain.
she picks up an old pencil. points to
her paper. points to her articles.
gestures at the curling, crumpled papers
retrieved from her little girls' backpack,
as i watch her face. i don't understand
but her past tutors have given me their opinion
in their resigned-sounding reports:

“she doesn't know what she's doing.”

a pang of pity stabs my heart, as she
fumbles through her squashed notes.
i take her paper and begin to read, and
she stares off into
the distance, quietly, a sixty year old
woman in a twenty year old's land,
pencil clutched in fingers with
chipped red nail polish.

i bring her attention back to her
paper, and i am kind. i show her the
mistakes. i watch her face. for an
hour i watch the wrinkles get deeper
and smooth out as her expressions
change. the curve of her cheek is still
young. the hasty erasing of her
broken english leaves
dirty marks on the paper. but i ignore
my colleagues' comments because

at the end of the hour her face breaks
into a smile. she knows what she is
doing. and she asks to see me
next week. she looks young.

Simplicity

Eyes glued on the television ahead
Those are beautiful set of orbs
They are not big, dreamy or blue
And yet their brown beauty shines through.

Masticating as he enjoys the Planters
His lips move as he grinds.
From here I can only imagine his strong white teeth
Remembering how a smile modifies the shape
There is beauty in his whole face
He remembers to moisten his dry lips
Like a natural after thought.

As he takes another handful of the little feeds
With little concern for the rest of us
He is entranced by the sight on the screen.
Suddenly, there is a change
His eyebrows rise in anticipation
Of the pleasure of a win
GOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLL!

Titus

His eyes fixed on her hands
At a distance he waits
With a wagging tail
As she places the bone to her plate
He approaches her
With eyes so kind
And without words
She knows his mind

He receives his prize
With joy and zeal
Finds a corner to himself
To indulge in this meal
He eats it quickly
Leaving none to waste
Then scurried back to her
Maybe for another taste

2 Mirrors

Mac bag on the table

1, 2, 3 brushes

foundation applied...check

base...check

hmmm what colors

she looks back at the outfit

hmmm

she touches her skin

seemingly comparing the tones

eyes brighten at the epiphany of

green and gold on her lids

looks into a mirror image of an

already beautiful face

grimaces

quickly takes up arms with angle brush

gold into corners nearest nares

honey suckle pigment next to be applied

forrest green making egyptian extensions

where a hint of crows feet barely lie

blend blend blend

lower lids, mascara, eyes on the floor

gloss on lips

applied to a parted clownish smile

pucker

bat eyelashes coyly

points at herself as if to ask

who me?

feigns a laugh

one last look before she turns

to see me watching her

beautiful

the establishment

i shamelessly stole amrita's no caps style

christmas lights twinkle above

a green blue red patterning of the sky

we are not serenaded by a babbling brook

instead we listen to the melody of the drunk older gentleman

hitting on the 24 year old runner

our seats best any mezzanine manhattan has to offer

pool table mere feet away

the obese man’s plumber crack as he lines up for a shot

far superior to the best show Vegas’s caberet could offer

tuxedo dressed waitor? i think not

this establishment promotes independence

we order at the stained wood bar

i ponder the genius of this place expensive

wall ornaments replaced with paper plates

tacked on with the deals of the day

our food finally arrives

i smile at the slow service understanding

it is not inefficiency or lax service

there are larger forces at work

the establishment endorses conversation

it is an agent of societal change

fighting our fast food tv dinner ways

i watch him eat

reminiscent of the nature channel

crumbs of burger tangle up in his beard

a testament to the steely drive

the focus to the task at hand

spine erect, pupils dilated, erector pili engaged

a product of countless ancestors working for a single goal

to produce offspring who one day

could inhale a one dollar cheeseburger in under a minute

the pinnacle of evolution

three cheeseburgers

two fishburgers

two chicken burgers

two fries two onion rings

eleven dollars to feed four people

forget the fed

these guys should be in charge

Chains and Stitches

At the hospital waiting room, there she sat
Chain to chains, it grew longer
Stitch after stitch made it beautiful
It must be a beautiful little thing
A beautiful thing as she added pink
And some more pink
It must be a she

Stitch after stitch made it beautiful
As the baby at the corner cried
She look, smiled,
added more pink stitches
She stretched it
Rubbed it on her skin
It must be a beautiful, soft thing
Mama it’s a girl
A beautiful baby girl with soft skin
Tears roll down, smiles followed
Oh my angel
Here, this is her first blanket

NOM NOM NOM

I saw him as I turned the corner
and looked down the crowded dusty aisle.
He was distinct and round, holding something
distinct and round.

It was one of those sights
so captivating that it
instantly mutes the rest of the world
including my mother’s voice behind me.

Most of the year these grounds are meadows
Where deer fawn and frolic.
But for two weeks each spring, the fields are
threshed to make room for the tents and children.

He didn’t move much,
perhaps he couldn’t, the way he was planted,
perched atop a highchair wrapped full-body
in bright red bunny jumpers…floppy ears and all.

Pride of his parents, and perhaps
the first of a generation, so he had his very own plate.
Eat my boy, Eat!
His face was hidden perfectly behind the crunchy golden sphere.

His small mouth didn’t make much progress
against the task at hand, but golly was it a sight to see.
Working at its petals, three at a time…
fried strands doused in ranch and his grandparents adoration.
And secretly mine too.

He had everything he needed in this world,
mothers love, fathers devotion,
a cup full of dip
and a massive blooming onion
at the Walton fair.

A new way of living

He assumes his seat at the head of the table as he always does,
feet spaced wide apart below his chair,
bent arms to either side,
elbows just touching the edge of the oak table.
He waits for his bowl to come,
and as it is placed in front of him
his bent arms seem to relax ever so slightly
and he closes his eyes.
He drifts off to a time before,
when meals were something to enjoy.

He remembers the time of a backyard barbeque.
He would sit in the yard, grilling as he engaged in conversation with friends.
That first glimpse of the spring breeze brought with it a time of laughter and ease,
as well as a hint of smoked enjoyment.

He remembers the holidays,
the entire family coming together around a table of homemade breads and pasta.
As he enjoyed the food of his heritage he listened to the stories of the old,
hoping these traditions and recipes would remain for all generations to come.

He remembers a time when he did not have to think,
but could simply enjoy the meal in front of him and the people around him.
A time when indulgence did not have to impose its will
on his circumference.
He sits and sips his now cold soup and wonders,
how did I get to this point?
Going on three years he can feel the results,
but lives everyday with the sacrifices it takes.
He touches the soup to his lips and can only hope,
this new way of living won't change the things
he continues living for.

Study Break

Interrupted from a moment’s rest
To cut the garlic for dinner’s prep
With hilt of blade at leveled chest
Did slice precise with most adept
Strokes to cleave along clove’s crest
Until thin petals are all that’s left
Another task another test
For this young doc’s future success

A Woman's Wine

See, swirl, sniff, sip, savor

Subtle succulence, sincerely saccharin

It takes her world away.

It takes her world

away. It takes her

world away.

Lost for a moment

what could have been

now a ruddy reflection

left to ruminate

the roads not taken

savoring still grapes of wrath

lest she finds

her glass is empty

Tired

I’m so tired of their noise
drowning my thoughts
so I can’t think straight
I just want them to be still
And quiet
I’m so tired of their whining
Waking me up at night
Their perpetual needs
And how they always want to fight
I’m so tired of their mess
Bruising my bones
So I can’t stand
So I sit and wish they were already grown

Puberty

They lied to me,

This is NO gift, my spreading hips

Did this happen over night?

My jeans don’t even want to zip.

I googled it last night

kept reading ‘bout these tanner stages

He must’ve been confused

My hips and boobs are different ages.

Keep waking up from dreams

‘bout boys and girls doing awful things

Embarrassment and fear

That is all these thoughts can bring

I wanted to grow up

Wanted them to look at me and smile

But if this doesn’t quit

I’ll never walk down that aisle.

They tell me it will be over soon

All these changes in myself

But I’m worried more than ever

Am I becoming someone else?

Gaze

I look into your eyes and I find peace
I see calm, I find confidence and assurance
I find a step to climb and a rock to land
I look into your eyes and I find love
I see melody; I find strength and courage to go on
In your eyes I find refuge; a comfort zone
Now, I still look even though you are gone
I look to find the strength to live
I look for when you will call me, to have a place in you

Seeing the Music

lyrical translation

of things skantly heard

careful not to swallow me up

with melodies unplucked

colors unseen

but undoubtedly made

onlookeers cannot wrap

their minds around it

my fingers feeling out a tune

the imagery i make

body has given up making the music

of life

back and muscles on their last

need not even rise

the notes give them strength

creating fields of jasmine

only my nostrils have been blessed by

velvety crescendos remind me of things felt

i've only heard love

making music to illustrate it precisely

nerve endings force flesh over flesh

humorously

as if there was vitreous

but when life stands supported by staffs

who needs eyes?

Hysterectomy

In late May, we lie in wet grass,

Your warm shoulder pressed against mine,

And above us, the spidery veins of a black oak.

Branches twist and creep into the thick darkness,

Glowing with energy

Reflecting the light of the stars,

And then swallowed in the bountiful mass of leaves.

Silhouetted against the navy sky like the billowing smoke cloud of an explosion

And they taunt me.

Their life force bursting into bloom

Year after year

And mine for only 25.

Your hand touches mine, and I wonder

If you knew, would you care?

And, where will all that glowing energy go?

They will cut the branches and take away the leaves,

And will I be left with a stump

Rings that buzz with the vitality of each of my 25 years

Extinguished, sizzling into empty space.

A breeze catches the leaves,

sending them into a shimmering quiver that reminds me that they will fall.

And then I remember the roots

Diving deep below me

With the same vivacity of the branches.

I can feel my roots do the same in my body

Sending warm rays in all directions

Life and potential pooling and pulsating in my fingertips

Energy is not destroyed

It is rechanneled, shared

And so I take your hand and rechannel into you.

i pledge allegiance to the flag
of the united states’ internment camps
and to this republic for which i stand
with the stars and stripes in hand.
as one nation, under God,
beyond pearl harbor, before the bomb
packs me up behind barbed wire fence,
in rickety shacks and makeshift tents.

yet the 442 still marches on,
past a trail of nisei, dead and gone
in the name of a country indivisible,
whispering “shikata ga nai,” our faces invisible.
and at the end, in ’45,
with one train ticket and the scraps of our lives,
we quietly reflect on the freedom that falls
with its sister, liberty, and justice for all.


*442 - the 442nd Infantry Regiment composed of Japanese American citizens
*nisei - 2nd generation Japanese American citizens
*"shikata ga nai" - "it can't be helped," a common phrase echoed by the Japanese interred during WWII

The Saltonstall Family circa 1636-7

It is a curse I married into.
Living in the shaddows of the deceased,
And never measuring up to some level.

Orphanied children longing for a motherly love,
Accepting none from me.
Scared faces longing for a softer touch,
Rejecting my kind attempts to sooth.
Nothing I do is good enough.

Husband is also lost in his own world.
Attempting to remind the kids of their loss.
Oblivious of the distance between us all.

My baby too longs for more love.
For a chance to bond with his dad,
Not understanding the rejection he receives.

And all along the culprit is HER.
Critical of how I'm raising the kids.
Longing for an embrace from them,
And blaming me for the rejections SHE gets.

Oh, poor little souls!
Denying their thier mother's death,
But with no recollection of HER ever being.
And yet acknowledging that I replaced her somehow.

What a curse to marry like this!
Knowing that second will always be my place,
for SHE will never leave my life,
And my family will never be mine alone!

Vision Changes

Beautiful home, with beautiful vistas

Mountains overlooking the twisty roads

Servants attending to every need

Hot roast and delicious wine for dinner

He could be a ruler, a dictator

Even a messiah

A kingdom created

Men bow before him

It could be a religious frenzy

Or fear of a tyrant’s wrath

A man of many faces

Stern, strict, commanding, dominant

But who else has seen the subtle shift

The crinkled eyes, worried mouth

A face of compassion

Yet innocent eyes can only see what is in front of them

A bubbly nose, a scarred forehead, a liver spot

This man, this person is not scary

He is not powerful

other would grovel, spend their lives

trying to see that face

but without the slightest hint of compunction

the bored child pushes him away

Between the Clock and the Bed

I stand here,
between the clock and the bed,
my mind many ticks away from where my feet rest.
A moment for memories,
A second for stories,
The all just seem to circle around,
And then vanish in the blink of an eye.

I stand here and wait,
The sparkle in her eyes begin to expire,
as the sun sets on a day gone by.
Another moment of memories,
Another second of stories.

I stand here and wonder,
will this be the hour of judgment,
the time when the bells stop ringing,
and the ticks stop drumming.
Another moment with memories,
Another second with stories.

I stand here and stare,
my eyes grow wet,
my tears like the sand through an hourglass.
Yearning to stand in this room,
between the clock and the wall,
To move back those hands,

and bring back that moment,
and savor that story,
and make it all...
last forever.

Christ Among the Doctors

Innocence, so pure and sweet,

science and reason try to defeat.

They attack, relentless, with fire and mace

hastening still their fall from grace.

It take faith to know the unknown,

to believe what labs might not have shown.

But they, like Simon, have to touch,

as their faith doesn't amount to much.

The beauty of a child, the King of Kings,

he has no interest in worldly things.

Though they scoff, with books and laws,

with a smile he forgives their flaws.

As doctors of science, faith seems more elusive,

yet must the two be mutually exclusive?

Before the Shot ~ Norman Rockwell

Smells like a clean bathroom
and the floor is squeeky.
What is he going to do this time?
Oh no, not the needle again...I promised I wouldnt play around rusty nails!

I...I...Im not afraid
No sir not me, not one bit.
Ive slain dragons and sea monsters
and built castles in trees and mountains.

Is that so Larry? All by yourself?
Yes sir, just me.
Well brave knight, hop up here
there will be a small pinch on your bottom.

I...I...Im ready for the pinch
and I wont even close my eyes
because I am brave.
I will just turn around so I dont have to look.
Sniffle...U-N-I-V-E-R-S-I... OWCH!!

Cloud Gate by Anish Kapoor

A drop of heaven's mirrored mildew

Did land the park of a thousand years

Amongst the concrete wonders of the world
With body of shadow
Sky and
Smiling face
Nature's shape
Mankind's jagged grace


Distinctly alone
In shape and form

But no stranger to the wondrous stares
That steer away most guided strides
This curvaceous beast of mercurial cloud

The Body of Abel Found by Adam and Eve

The Body of Abel Found by Adam and Eve
William Blake, c. 1825, watercolor on wood


His muscles stand out in wooden relief.
Bare flesh runs from blue black shadows of hills.
The distant red sun tears fingers through grief
darker than mother’s hair, the boy’s final shroud
her limp body a bower for his will.
The father behind her, eyes searching still
for the son that remains. He wouldn’t dare
look down at his slain son. Mother’s cries trill.
The marked one escapes, tearing his hair
in one moment separated from goodness.
When family ends whose wail is loudest?

Zion

O Zion, how I love thee
Since the beginning of time, my heart longed for you
The thought of you are like snuggle to my soul
You said
To have me you must wash,
Wash, be refined, you must be pure
Pure as gold

O Zion, when will I see thee
I was made for you and you for me
I am washed, refined, pressed and fired
Like Egypt you went after other gods
Men find pleasure in your bosom
But against me, you turned your back
I will run, fly, swim, crawl to find a place in you
At your gate I will wait until you let me in

Zion, your trees are diamond, your streets are thorns
My soul longs for the fruit of your land
And my flesh endures the pain
Tear me, break me apart
I won’t, I won’t let go

All about Me

For just that one kiss your lips bestow,
I will let you conquer my heart for eternity
Without hesitation or thinking twice
I would gladly barter my hopes of Heaven for you.

Your new love has resurrected me.
Nothing is what it was before
I am willing to bear unending torture for you.

Oh my dear New Love,
Old Love speaks jealously of you
And from here I can see why

You have resuscitated my desires anew
Fires that long ago burned out have ignited
I can see the future I have been waiting for
And the passion I have so long been denied.

In this moment,
Nothing can change
or ruin a love like this!

But now as day breaks,
I know I must turn my eyes from you
Old Love, with roots so deep
Her embrace offers asylum from thee

And when I no longer feel the need to flee,
The thought of you is a sin of the deepest dye
I must use the light to search
For a way to bleach out this stain

I know I cannot bear to look in your eyes
For the waterworks will sweep away
All the remnants of you.

So, with fond memories of you,
I hope you don't feel betrayed.

Under this umbrella of love
And with the transient clarity I now possess
I must choose infidelity to myself or to you.

i had awaited those victorious
Xs, stretched out in glory,
forty six syllables speaking
your name.

yet after years of base pairs dancing
across my vision, after hundreds of
hours of learning their language,
today they are as cryptic to me as antiquity.
today they are tiny inaccessible gods.
yet i pray they will hold you, snugly,
with their broken arms, and say i'm
sorry baby, on some molecular level.
i'm sorry she had to let you go.

Memory of a Smile

I used to wear a smile
Of decorative style
Not a stranger could resist
This ivory trinket from distant while
I had it on that day
A proud flagship of my face
To greet great spires of gleaming tower
Where Cherubs sing of sacred space
I know it had caught the eye
From the ruler of this special place
He who subjects idolize
And won me presence in the night
It had brought upon his touch
A brief harmless brush
That lingered a bit too much
And when I felt his kiss
Those two lifeless lips
Painting wetness upon my skin
I desperately clung to innocence
But it led to his grab
A firm unyielding grasp
Drowning me
In his suffocating musk
And that foolish youth's disgrace
Would rob my voice of all command
And never did I lend again
The smile of a prouder time

The ashtray in my car is filled with spare change.

We would drive places

And you would tell me that ashtrays were pointless these days—

That I had found the perfect use for the vestigial compartment.

The very last time you were in my car

It was dark,

And we were parked in the back lot.

It was finally spring so all the windows were rolled down,

The smell of wet soil and cut grass mixing with fabric cleaner,

And I had a flower that I had grabbed from the ground.

We sat in the parked car

Our seatbelts still fastened,

And as you told me things I did not want to hear

My fingers worked in a frenzy,

Tearing the petals into tiny pieces,

Letting the silky shreds fall silently

Into my pile of quarters and dimes,

While I looked at you with steady eyes

And nodded in agreement.

Furious and infatuated

Behind a mask of unwavering poise.

A month later, the pink petals dried

Becoming a distinguished maroon

And slowly, they sank to the bottom of the ashtray.

It wasn’t for another two years,

When scrambling for change at a toll booth

That I saw them again,

This time barely recognizable—

Unsightly dried cinders,

Twitching and vulnerable in the open air.

I smiled and thought of you

And then drove along the highway

One hand on the wheel,

The other rummaging through my purse

Searching for spare change,

So I could protect the fragile wisps.

Firsts

I wonder how long 'til they find you
whimpering like a puppy
on their doorstep
as I walk away from

Christmas
Birthday
Day of School
Home run
Gold Medal
A
A+
kiss
Love
True love
Real job
big promotion
Marriage
Child
Gray hair


That I could never give you.

One

Does this mean I will never feel you
Kicking, moving, living, growing?
Waking up to fulfill midnight cravings
Monthly appointments awaiting your
Heartbeat
Nightly classes teaching me to breath
Sweet lavender or powder blue?
Learning how to truly love
Asking my mother everything
Giving you what I never had
Living vicariously through you
I cannot fathom the pain,
But I look forward to the gift
A gift I am not sure I will ever receive,
Now that I only have one.

________'s Never Prosper

The hell was he thinking...

He was the never the sharpest tack
or the smoothest operator...
just a knucklehead with straight white teeth.

Straight now, but not for long. Not for long
when she feels the shift, the gravity, the distance
and confronts him.

The hell was he thinking...

Obviously not that Humans mate for life,
like termites but lack the chitinous exo-armor
to protect our soft insides.

The hell was he thinking...

Clearly not that marriage means protection,
means trust, means companionship,
means loyalty, means fidelity.

The hell was he thinking...

Evidently not about the damage, the injury,
the mistrust, the collapse, the weight of 12 ounces
versus the weight of guilt.

The hell was he thinking...

Probably not about the possibility
of losing the person who promised to walk with him
bandaged hand in hand.

The hell was he thinking...
that he could get away with it
forever?

20/20

I close my eyes

Strong sinewy arms holding me tight
freddy and jason might terrorize others
but in his grasp at this moment
nothing can hurt me, I am safe

Nimble agile hands flick the baseball
the smell of leather, grass stains on my jeans
warm sunshine bathes us under the brilliant blue hue
a father-son tradition as old as any

Careful, steady wrists hammer in the nails
we build my escape from reality
gentle breezes caress my face, I am complete
heaven cannot be far so high in the sky

I open my eyes

I do not see power, strength, or reassurance in his arms
I see those arms that once comforted me

breaking my mother

I do not see love, warmth, or comfort in his hands
I see those hands that once taught me

betraying my family

I do not see decency, honesty, or fidelity in his wrists
I see those wrists that once freed me

blackening my soul

Living the American Dream

Penthouse apartment

looking down on the little people

who wish they could be me

sweat dripping down my face

wakes me from my daydream

heat really does rise

I blink sullen eyes

at a not so rectangular box called home

top floor

but not quite the penthouse

mother turns over and I

try

to drown out her snores

2 sisters, 1 brother

one mother

one bed

living check

to check

and foot to head

snore...snore

followed religiously by

4 tummies rumbling

somehow

I can not fathom

5 fish and 4 loaves feeding the masses

when

1 of each leaves my belly

so empty

don't worry baby

this is only temporary

meanwhile I am very

sure her eyes meant to look more believable

and my mind rather not have

raced back to her pleading

with land and Lord for just another week

4 A.M. alarm sounds

she's off to job number 1

and I

pretend to be asleep

Maneater

Seducing with your sultry ways

men are powerless before you,

charming them with golden hair

that pure mane betrays your nature.

While many falter at your feet

you'd just as soon walk away,

outrunning even Atalanta

you'd dare not fall for their golden apples.

Some may think they've found your fancy

cleverly clamoring for your attention

you dismiss them with hollow hope

in the guise of digits duplicitous.

They walk away to boast and brag

as if they had the lottery won,

if only they knew that your true numbers

were that of Revelation's beast

Fellowship

The hardest part was pretending
I didn’t know your secret.
Working days and nights
for weeks and months, a fellowship
corroding a marriage.
Leaving you at home
without a car, in a town
neither of us knew,
two chubby babies,
and Windows 97.
The hardest part was leaving you
pretending I didn’t know
how lonely you would be.

A choice

If you had a chance to see into the future
would you have made the same choice?
To be given the opportunity many years ago,
to take a walk in the shoes you wear today,
To see how it would be,
to see how you would be,
how you would feel.
To be able to know what
this whole medical school thing was truly about.
Maybe my choice would have been different?

The journey to this point seems like a flash of light,
everything spinning so fast,
applications, letters, interviews,
more applications, more letters, more interviews.
Getting so excited you almost didn't have time to think.
You are almost to that point,
something that you have always wanted,
something that you still want?

Everything just seemed to go by so fast,
but now you are here
and you must actually do it.
You have come so far,
one, nearly two, years down,
but is it too far to turn back?

People all say what a great opportunity,
what a great life you will have,
but will it be worth the day in and day out
I have to endure right now?

I guess we will never know,
Because that time machine has not yet been invented.
We cannot see into the future.
I guess we can wonder if this choice was right,
and think about how our lives now might be different,
But at the same time,
consider our future.

With a chance to wear the shoes we will wear ten years from now,
do we want to say that we were so close,
and then we just gave up?
Or do we want to say that we pushed through,
and followed our hearts,
because deep down we know,
this was the only choice,
that could truly satisfy those hearts.

Before I walked,
you held me up
Strong, supple.

When I started riding,
two point held with ease
as I crossed fences and streams.

In high school
you brought me first across the finish line
oars gliding smoothly
toward feathered freedom on frost bitten mornings.

In the desert heat of the Negev
you cushioned me as I fell from such great heights,
like Moshe and the Israelites.

In the ballroom,
you helped me glide across the floor
caminando, ochos y gauchos.

In bed at night,
I tossed and took you for granted
at every turn.

I can't ignore you anymore
I've finally listened to your cries for help,
but as I awaken to glimpses of Sheol each night,
I am reminded that I'm too late.

Visiting Steuben

We lie in bed on a warm night in august.

I breathe slowly, cautiously,

my grandmother in heaves

that make my hands break into a cold sweat.

My face is close to the back of her head

And wisps of her silver hair tickle my nose

But I am afraid to move.

Through the crown of unruly silver

I can see her white scalp

Speckled with sunspots

Glowing eerily in the moonlight.

It is foreign, fragile—

Not even an egg shell.

I look away, and wait for the next breath

And think of many years ago

When I lay in her bed

And gave her a nudge

For every snore.

I feel lost and alone, and sit up slowly,

gazing through the open window at the front yard,

the street below.

And somehow

The trees, the sidewalk, the air

were still quite the same.

So I find her cheek

Because this I know.

I press mine against it.

Skin on skin,

the scent of the her shampoo

floating around me.

And I am a young girl again

Waiting for her next snore.

knees

his slippers are soft and worn
through the soles from his slow,
painstaking shuffle around the house.
from the top of the stairs, i watch silently
as it takes him a minute to move
my four strides. i touch my knees.
from my lookout, i watch the top of his
grey head move slowly, every inch a taunt.
gripping two canes, knuckles tense,
he begins the quiet fight towards the stairs.


with guilty fingers i lace my sneakers,
and i wait.
his door finally clicks shut.
i bolt down the stairs,
throw open the door, and
run for my life.

Allow me.

To paddle me through the surf,
cupping brine and flicking it back
like a child in a sandbox…
as I duck dive beneath the last breaker.

To drive the gut across felted rubber,
sailing it precisely down the white line
like a glider down its flight path…
as I close the gap to the net.

To twist the crank shaft bolt,
advancing the old motor to top-dead-center
sprung like the firing pin on a Winchester…
as I match its timing to spark.

To guide an axe blade to its mark,
wrenching it out after each strike
removing knots from wood like amma did from my laces…
as I down the sick maple tree.

Ive used them.
For all things that make me me.
No wonder they shackle a man’s wrists
to take away his freedom.

Heart Failure

I resent that word
You have forgotten all that I did
For 98 years I was a life boat
Ready at every whim

Jet Engines preparing for take off
I aided you to escape
Turbines in Lake Victoria
Supplied all the Niles and beyond

Tributaries never uttered a word
All the inhabitants were fed
Even though blind to what lay beyond
I devoted myself to my work

Lub-dub, lub-dub

Narrow paths never phased me
And neither did the pollution you brought
And now you call me that word
Who is it that demanded so much?

Introduced poisons and disease
Careless about the years to come
Mindless, you left me for lovers to break
Oh, the guts to utter that word!

Once or twice I warned but in vain
When the turbines creaked
Kentucky gallops were heard
And Tennessee never lagged behind

But you never paid me no mind
Even when the sanitation trucks broke
I devoted myself to work
And now you call me that?

Lubb-dub, lubb-dub, lubb-dub

Answered your every call
without discrimination, distributed all you brought me to send
How dare you give that name!
When you had all fun at my expense

Lub.....dub, lub.....dub, lub.....dub

My Potential

I can extend pure happiness with my doings

Sweetness and joy emigrate from my borders

They taste like candy to the ears

I show my Parents that I love them

Like the scent of burning incense to nostrils

My praises bring joy to Their ears

Out of me can emerge malice and arrogance…

My boasts, careless sparks that ignite an entire forest,

Spread like wildfire through fields with impunity

My actions can pierce others--

A sharp double edged-sword through the spirit…

I have no concern as to how you feel

My expressions emanate from the heart,

whether jubilant or grievous

For what comes in does not taint,

but what flows out can adulterate

Like the small rudder that steers vast ships,

What I possess can move people

I know that I am a hypocrite--my actions are never consistent

I spew perpetual contradictions,

A spring producing pure and salt water

I am as small as bits

Bits into the mouths of horses can turn the whole animal

And I, I alone can turn you…

36"- 24"-...40"?!

You hate me

try to make me

behave and just fit

been fighting my span for ages

me?

the epitome of width

baring my fertility like many unsung rifts

bearing the seed of your wars continuous

so

loathsome and yet so undeniably

perfect

I supply the edge that is femininity

your courage lives here

tapping into millions of years of evolution

Your

intentions lie within my earth

I am equally wide and deep

you grow

yet consistently

retreat to the warm security consumed by me

viscous thing that completely sustains

old men appreciate me with young eyes

and young women envy me while they sweat to

erase me

lying to themselves in 45-minute intervals

no ma'am

i don't need no low-fat protein shake

my blend is genetic

ain't no music I cant make

ain't no rhythm that slips past me unnoticed

catching around my periphery

like expertly controlled concentricity

hula hoops

fear me

and I am you

despite these skin tight jeans

and I refuse

to be hidden

Imagination's embrace

Sing to me you bright little bee

Dance along those dandelion seeds

Above the crimson tips of dragon’s fire

Doused by giant flakes of winter’s ire

A delicate scaffold of talcum white

Strewn across an endless night

Lighting up those parts of brain

Temporal near Sagittal plane

O’ smile with me great monkey king

Unleash the brilliant flashes of Sting

And when she stares we’ll drop our chin

In symbolic nod to say we listen

And when it’s time we’ll intertwine

Those circuits of our prefrontal mind

Him

He is unidentified mysterious in every way
lives spent battling this unseen foe
he is quantifiable measurable
and in every way real
he cannot be compared amongst his peers
some use him to get attention others for pity
but to most he is the villain
despised by those he encounters
most have personally experienced him
the few with CIPA spared the grief

He can be slow
leaves changing on the side of the highway oblivious
uncaring to the plight of those scurrying below
because he knows
as has been
as is
as will be
the leaves will change and he cannot be stopped

He can be fast
the leaves adorn branches forming a mosaic
nature’s paintbrush slate wiped clean with
a single strike of energy from the heavens lighting
a fiery inferno whose blaze ferociously consumes
everything in its path, unstoppable by man
for all the money in the world cannot
impede the beat of his drum
for he knows
as has been
as is
as will be
zeus’s bolt will strike and he cannot be stopped

He cannot be stopped.

Always Mine

My baby is growing, her oranges are ripen
She’s become a woman, see how they bud
They bud like roses through her velvet silk
They are yours, not theirs

My oranges are ripen, they as luscious as the fire
The fire that feeds your soul
Stop; stop don’t touch
They are mine, not yours

My oranges are ripen, its pulps are like bread
The bread that feeds your soul
Stop; stop don’t cry
They are mine, mine to share

The oranges are ripen, its roots are germinating
The roots that feeds on my soul
Stop; stop don’t stretch
They are mine, still mine

The oranges are ripen, its seeds are like parasites
The parasites that feeds on my soul
Stop; stop don’t spread
They are mine, always mine