miscellaneous

exhale

I sigh “amen” like heavy rain from clouds

that harbor moonbeams, restless milky light,

and breathe. We lift into the air like birds

without a destination, though we palm

ticket stubs for countries yet untrod

and cities we have only seen on maps

behind our seats, or from our oldest dreams.

I watch as ground is swallowed by the sky

and meditate on houses, small as drops

of condensation on a plastic pane

where windows tell of other planes so far.

So far, we’re still enough where I can breathe

and read about the cities I should go.

But when the clouds grow thicker at their seams

and laugh at us with blows like trumpets sound

in quiet chapel halls, I cease. My breath

is quick, like steps on polished hardwood floors,

or horse hooves down an untrod country field,

and there seems something caught inside my throat—

it’s fear. I watch as streaks of faintest blue

maneuver under wings and underneath

(or overhead?) I try to think of Calm:

the way the ocean licks away these fears

when sunlight paints its tattoos on my thights;

but that was twenty thousand feet below,

and twenty-thousand memories away.

And now I’m caught in thoughts of my mistakes:

the reasons we are dropping, faults of youth:

his clothes beside my bed, his morning breath

of words he won’t recall; his absent kiss

and how it didn’t feel; his words like white.

White erases all these thoughts and breath

becomes my enemy—it makes me feel alive.

We catch eyes, the soldier three rows up,

and here it goes—more guilt. I think he knows

that fear is something we cannot escape.

That this is just an instance of goodbye:

how yawns farewell a morning sun at noon,

or stars dismiss a sunset’s blazon parts

into a blackness, thick as syrup spilled,

drowning what became of yesterday.

I cannot tell what he is thinking now:

my fear is just a ripple of goodbye.

I focus on his back: it’s strong but bent

where spine meets neck, as if he’s leaning down,

caught between an “amen” and “god bless—“

What? His mouth is shaped into an “o.”

I wonder if September’s brought him here.

He sits in green and finally I exhale.

UNFIT.

He cuts like sand on broken skin

Or Kansas wind—sharp

And hard to keep.

His words, they bleed, and I can’t be

And ear for their hypocrisy.

He says the words, but they fall deaf,

As actions can’t confirm their depth.

He lacks the courage to admit

That we were never meant to fit.

why we cry.

My mother cries in picture shows

For executed criminals

For her old home on Seventh Street:

She never is all that discreet.

My sister cries when boys dismiss

Their promises. Her loneliness

Begins to show with thinner cheeks:

She disappears along with weeks.

Father blames it on this nation:

For me, a conflicting proclamation.

He says it is a bunch of noise

To hear “I love you” spoke by boys;

He says my mother’s country is

Obsessed with their own interest;

He says we cry at everything,

And worse, we cry at anything.

And me? I cry when father asks

To walk at dawn in dew-soaked grass:

I cry since I know I’ll refuse

To humor him with that false youth.

I cry when father calls me by

Old names I do not recognize.

And when I scoff at his attempts

To capture my lost innocence,

He chooses to ignore my scorn

And walks in dew at dawn, alone.

He walks alone too often now—

He won’t admit to knowing how,

Or even if, we formed this wall—

I cry that he won’t cry at all.

Denial

I've sat with denial for awhile

He seems to smile

Makes me think he'll stay

He's seen the way I close my eyes

And hide in a disguise

Throughout each day.

But even though I've begged and pleaded

For relief or some reprieve

He keeps his arm around me

Until denial I believe

TWENTY-THREE

tonight i sat outside and tried in vain to count the stars

see, i thought if i could train my mind away from you, you'd disappear

but after i reached 'twenty-two,' i thought again of you

your eyes and how they seemed unused to really seeing me

your hands and how they felt of youth and things you'd yet to hold

the way you walked unpurposefully with feet too soft to hear

and how you smiled inappropriately to make your heart to feel

at 'forty-five' i realised that you'd never truly felt

and when i got to 'fifty-two' i saw the way you'd dealt:

beyond the pills and lies and girls and stories you'd devised

beyond the casual way you laughed and hid in a disguise

beneath the road you'd soaked with all your hypocrisies

was just a thought of something close to insecurity

all at once it seemed the stars decided to retreat

they left a trail of footprints that i trust you'd never seen

cause when you looked at stars all you saw were just a few

and a moon whose sole purpose was to light the way for you

i bet it'd never crossed your mind to try to count the stars

or wonder how their light could shine from distances that far

or how the moon could move the waves that breathed beneath the sky

or how each tiny grain of sand could mirror all your lies

i bet you'd never seen the way the clouds can hide the moon

only to later part and leave you breathless with concern

i figured you had never held a single grain of sand

and paused to watch it slowly melt into the creases of your hand

i wonder if you even saw me lean against the pier--

my body speaking fear and tears i'd tried to hide

or how my hair blew undone and beckoned you to come

or how the echoes carried all the sighs i'd sung

or stars i'd named in whispered breaths

or how my dress had crept up my knees--

well, you'd probably noticed that

and yet my thoughts outnumbered all the stars that you could see

if only you would see them too then maybe, just maybe

i'd lose the urge to save you or to teach you all these things

i'd let you go and never fear i hadn't touched your soul

i'd wish upon a single star that you would find your peace

and maybe next time counting stars i'd stop at 'twenty-three'