Springtime in the City

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

-LIMG_1557

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Sketch: First Full Attempt at Self Portrait

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.

IMG_1525 (1)-L

lonely girl, desert journey

am i only a
reflection?

the hues and
textures of
those i love
woven into
the lines on my
palms?

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,
again

this happens, i
am reminded of
myself with
no context,
no crutches,
just spine and
bare bones

i am green,
dusty, soft,
rocky, sharp,
ragged, muddy,
and hazy

i am tethered
to belonging,
only this time,
to my self

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-A

dirt trails

i do not know
what it would be like
to hold you

but if i were somewhere
else, i would grow there,
ache there

the scent of freshly harvested chamomile
this morning reminds me that
we carve out our own path
towards healing

pluck it tenderly with our
fingertips
steep it in our
insides
allow it to float
through our bloodstream,
our inner river

healing is every day,
ritual adjustment

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
longing to
lay in it

-A

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On Loss

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.

-L

At Kigali Genocide Memorial

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.

-L

a letter to you, and her, and me

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
eroded,
pieces of fossils are your very
make-up.

these tools, this dust that sits within you.

don’t you know you’ve always had
everything you needed?

-A