Monday, June 28, 2021

Of Guilt and Guidance

I.

It's a wonder at old age
dad still shows you
how to extinguish a fire.

When flames went off
the stove tonight
you stood frozen.

Because guilt
is a house
burning in silence.

II.
The day mom slipped
and hit her face on the floor

was the day guilt became
an elderly woman by the door

asking for attention
and a cold glass of water.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Kian

A year before the lopsided shootout
online soldiers marched to the cadence
of keyboards clacking, raising arms
against bullets planted in bags.

Like Armalites, they fired rapidly retorts 
against extortion-riddled privacy.

Now that a gun is forced upon the grip
of your cold, nondominant hand, Kian
nobody dares to shoot.
Except the badged shooters.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

when this flower

disowns its petals
in blooming accusation
of infidelity
i will believe it
with the lie
you slipped
under my tongue.


(Written sometime in 2009) 

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

A Strand

Copper crown
half floating upon eyes
longing
descending
from steel steps
drifting to emerge
as a strand in the mess of a hair
of this distant population
rushing on concrete,
have me hoping
to pluck you
from such wild tresses
and keep you
a sample of yearning
or maybe
wish for the winds
to blow you to me
and together we shall
descend and drift away
and wake up in mornings
where we've no need for combs.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

He Will Give You Flowers

From a stretched car shall come forth
the perfect boy who shall take your hand
on that night you'll say you've finally fallen
in love after swaying and spinning
in a bright dress under lights that are even brighter.

He will kiss your blushed cheek
after this juncture where you
will feel for the first time
you have come into full bloom—
the lady porcelain on posters in your room.

He will give you flowers
prettier that those already hugging your wrist.
You'll realize after he has not taken
just your shivering hand but also your heart,
which, at that moment, shall shiver too.

And we will shiver as we commit this to vision.

Reality is harder to swallow with you
behind glass clearer than our eyes, face blank,
flesh frozen, lips refusing to let go
of secrets whose dwelling could've been our ears.

From the door shall come forth an imperfect boy
who shall take a moment to remember.
He will give you flowers you shall never touch.

(For Nicole)

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

The Most Dangerous House a Drifter Can Stay In

The most dangerous house a drifter can stay in
is this fragility beyond flesh,
where silence is the flame
dancing in the fireplace, warming his face;
where mourning dictates the pace,
the movement of things,
the stillness of stunned clocks,
and cracks on the wall creeping.                                                 
There is no room
for misstep that can see him
tumbling down the staircase
of reminiscence, hitting his head
against the floor whose planks are memories,
thud making relevant moments
collapse, creating a gaping hole
where there is no room
—no room at all—
for his chest
and its rise
and fall.

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Sakura

These soft pink explosions
shall burst in your eyes

the way my senses do
every time you unravel yourself,

petal by pastel petal,

as the lone blossom
in the wasteland of my heart. 

(Published, Metaphor Magazine, June 2014)

Friday, March 21, 2014

Between the Spaces of Falling Beads

If only we were delicate as the faint light
peeling from the edges of clouds
we could've heard the wisdom
between the spaces of falling beads
and walked in the rain finally
despite our misguided fear
of building pools in our pockets.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

The Drag

The night the moon
splashed in the room
and caught two lovers,

mirror-split and drowning,
the drag wore off
like mascara streaming

from eyes that hide
beneath the lampshade,
slumbered in solitude,

neither looking nor hinting,
not even blinking
to lose a lash or take the light in.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

We Too Shall Learn

How many more nights
will trouble the soundness of sleep,
you ask, turning to your side
and a blind eye to light
making it improbable
for the tips of your fingers to trace
the surface of this stream
where dreams gather as dust,
from which we shall return
and return we shall to the incantations
we roll in and out of our tongues,
the rendezvous of romance
as told by the moon, its boon
our intertwined limbs already dissolving
in furrowed sheets
tonight, the same night we learn
there will be tempests beyond reason,
no season can ever be fruitful
with the satellite dimming
against the storm clouds,
no question shall come to rest
when we stare out the window
and see nothing but leaves shivering,
telling us that tonight, we too shall learn
there is a fall deeper than our hearts.