Poetry

Glass of DRINK                                         on a ship                   in the open sea Tipsyingly Tiptoeing more out                              and                      onto the deck of the hull and                  causing                  puddles upon puddles to SWADDLE the crew         whole preventing their everlasting journey. One that holds still a goal with too FEW steps. You  SEE, outward are red flowers too thin  & crumbly to reach, & climb, & seek YET they sink their fangs in  wood, DECAYING wood  we fixed 10 times over but it’s just so hard, to still REACH  the unknowing & i FEEL Beat.

Like we write sentences! / And left and right / right. / Left like the billowing blues near my crib that midnight. / sky blue? / blews into a perfect storm / of worn and chiseled laced memories / Lace. / red cutting paper with holes / gei duan jie / Dust? / laced with dust / what / with you. / U. uv. / Wxyz. z. Zed. / zebra. What’s black and white and red all over? / Me! I’m the zebra red all over / and they are the lion / that’s matted mane tickles my neck and fang in my voicebox. / U? the last you I’ll know // well did you know luck and death are opposites? / or maybe instigators / of each others’ / horrible tendencies // U jumped in lake because u thought u have joy luck / i thought i had no luck because i almost died / tui / la / fu / si // i grew up reading about the velvetine rabbit / and how it flew into the fires / then back to the home moons later as a real rabbit / wo shi tu nian sheng de / everyone chided the story so much nobody batted an eye at the deer chasing a rabbit down the creek // what if i am the boy in the rabbit’s den? / what if i am a velveteen rabbit turned real turned boy / because either my luck was too great / or my death was too unkindly // dui / i can’t remember any longer / wo bu ji de le si ren // Dead // across the pond lays shadows / touching reflections / from skipping stones // i wish i knew before i threw / that the stones would hit the koi fish / just below the water // tui / la / bian / si // i am too lucky to be alive anymore *** Translations: Tui: Push Bai: white La: Pull Duibuqi: I’m sorry Fu: luck Dui: right Si: dead Xiang: like (such as) Bian: turn Gei Duan Jie: Dragon Boat Festival wo shi tu nina sheng de: I was born in the Year of the Rabbit wo bu ji de le si ren: I don’t remember anymore dead one

Sitting beside me eventually Sharing hometown flavors and global kisses We chime toasts in golden laughter and in each glass I see you leaving the nest and making your own your fresh waves intertwining with my grays. We have never forgotten affection, because my home is always yours.

sometimes i ask the stars who are you the widow buried in lavender, rose, and carnation         Name: old money         Waiting: for fireflies to sing and to please whisper to the girl praying there clasp her palms and trace the shape of my lips for her  beg her to teach me how to remind myself to whisper  how to call in legions above white ashes because i realize i can taste colors again in her Christmas lights  Dancing on a tightrope called the stars in green I see barefoot in moss, standing atop a piano on a cliffside screaming  We can rule the world; and believing it through starlight because we couldn’t dare be told we were wrong– Because sunlight is blades is grass is reflection Is cruel summers; I wished I had a Love Story I could bury beneath the willow tree And green is believing in evergreens, and forevers, and that Abigail will always be Your best friend; I think also ivy: placing roots in my dreamed lands and dream lands in red, a color she described once as passion striking clear of the abyss We learn to love, begin again even in fall Even when the trail of maple leaves doesn’t blow around and over And that cafes on Wednesdays are a new obsession because you are never the same  person when you leave; the aromas are miserable and magical at the same time  and you will apologize to Ronan beside you, bump behind you Sweet Nothing  Every mug stained by a red kiss  in blue Isolation and mourning mist, pale hei that settles like volcanic ash On Coney Island, where abandoned rollercoasters remind me Today was a fairytale And tomorrow is exile masked with epiphany; porcelain, China  And guzzling otter pops with Pictures to Burn  To remember girlhood is the art of never forgetting what fills the space between  our bones; what crackles and snaps because no body, no crime Or reliving the jazz clubs at thirteen, the first creep of False God when we had time to   pretend to be free. That summertime in san francisco is still gray and clings to your memory as Beautiful ghosts we can never meet     in gold  I learn luster rush still glows; And the pure things are snow on a beach in LA  Sourdough, and leatherbound books that don’t need to be a fantasy  And that ours is golden because I smile the most then I finally asked the lady today Why she doesn’t plant magnolia star trees in her yard and Why the christmas lights hang year round I tell her Princess can feel that my soul isn’t climbing the moonbeams  That’s why she’s barking She smiles with nothing new and tells me over the fresh spring rain “Closure Doesn’t live in California Nostalgia is in the snow there that never falls  And nostalgia is the first time you remember christmas lights were wonderland; because now they are the fireworks shining Over your sad empty town,”