weather like silk
just a light fabric
blanketing the skin
even the traffic horns
are a symphony
and the man selling papers
looks new and alive to me
evening stars shining
despite the stoplights
I sleep with the window open
because it seems we only get
two nights a year like this
and here is one
I see her there beside him in the parking lot,
studying the stars,
trying to make him proud.
I want to tell her
that one day she will find the Little Dipper
from the window of a plane flying over the Sahara.
But I know she can only feel her feet on one continent for now,
so I just hope she knows she can be enough tonight
loving the stars without knowing Perseus from Orion.
am i only a
the hues and
those i love
the lines on my
when i am so
far away from
the rolling hills
and rocky peaks,
do i still exist?
i cut open the thick,
stale air around me
and can finally
breathe in the light,
this happens, i
am reminded of
just spine and
i am green,
i am tethered
only this time,
to my self
i do not know
what it would be like
to hold you
but if i were somewhere
else, i would grow there,
the scent of freshly harvested chamomile
this morning reminds me that
we carve out our own path
pluck it tenderly with our
steep it in our
allow it to float
through our bloodstream,
our inner river
healing is every day,
i feel sand in my shoes,
cinnamon in my scalp
i smell the chamomile,
drying on the countertop
i see the dirt trail
across the floor, and
i find myself
lay in it
Lay’s potato chips dipped in fizzing
Coca-Cola is the very best
After-dinner snack, but I have not
Indulged in that since the days when we
Would sit at the kitchen table, six-
O’clock news in the background (we eat
Early) and gossip about the town,
Cigarette smoke hanging in the air.
And even when the din of that big
Oxygen machine replaced the sound
Of the news we still kept on sitting
At the kitchen table like normal.
I will never understand death, but
I am starting to see that we miss
People more as time goes on and we
Realize which questions we should have asked.
The busy chatter of birds
enters with the morning light –
sun already bright and blinding
heat already sticky and stifling –
through the open door
filtered through the stained glass window
down the stairs for reflection
into the room where I stand.
I have never seen human skulls before,
but what strikes me the most
[in this silence]
is that when bodies are just bones
it is impossible to separate
between Hutu and Tutsi.
sister, all the water, blood and juices
oozing from you body are
freely becoming one.
and in a sea so fiercely curious,
you stand at the shore –
the culmination of all the whispers
and limbs and bones that brought
you into being.
imagine for a second, sister, that
you are not just a body.
you are a collection of synapses
and bacteria, a walking planet.
and inside, did you know, sister, that you are
layers of all the things? like
sandstone and mudstone, layered and
eroded, layered and
pieces of fossils are your very
these tools, this dust that sits within you.
don’t you know you’ve always had
everything you needed?