She sees drowning beings
everywhere
reaches out her hand
to rescue
one by one
until
she is too tired
to move
The next day
she does the same
repeat
the next day
She can’t stop the rescue mission
because she is the one
drowning
Everyday
The saddest person
is often the most giving
Perhaps that’s the only way
to ease the pain
by focusing on others
Thinking about self
or being in touch with their feelings
is beyond what they can bear
I stopped sending you letters
on your wedding day
Still, I keep writing
In my mind, you are still my loyal reader
Dreams are the cubby-house I built for us
where our memories live
I know
I am locked out of heaven
fallen like the angels
My hiding place
a weathered house
by the meadow
Loneliness is the cold moon
in February
Frostbitten, my heart
pounding to keep warm
Anxiety is the sound
trapped deep inside
in shallow breaths
I need
a way out of
this daily attack
The texture of the canvas
pains my over-chewed fingers
The smell of the oil paint
calls me to create
Perhaps
there are wild flowers hidden
in the white and grey meadow
Maybe another pot of hot tea
I will find the anchor of my heartbeat
I know
I can bring the world
to my humble home
through my imagination
and the paintbrushes
Perhaps
I will reinstate heaven
to my heart’s desire
The land kisses the ocean
Pebbles turn into rocks
Spring green penetrates light blue
into a vast turquoise break
driven further to the deep blue
A collaborative effort of me and Benjamin Grossman.
The bountiful lilac purple wisterias curtain our bedroom window
The humidity of summer and the sound of cicadas wake us
My breasts swell in the cup of your hands
The curve of my body lazily responding to your offering
There is only one line you fit between
Fold me into origami with nothing but your tongue
Our bodies contort into a paper crane
Loving for 1000 years till we turn grey
Our souls take flight through the lilac purple haze into the flush blue eternity.
She got the news that her abuser died in peace after had been bedridden for ten years.
All the pots and pans were swept off the kitchen bench. The noise echoed off the tile floor. She torn the t-shirt that she was wearing, exposing her flesh. She gripped her hair with both hands until she felt the pain of her scalp. Thumping her fists on her thighs like a downpour.
She was angry. She was savagely angry.
You didn’t deserve to die. Died in peace? What’s that? What is that? You scum of the earth didn’t deserve to die. You deserved to rot in your own putrid karma. I deserve to die. I deserve freedom. I deserve innocence. Your death robbed me of everything, everything!
She felt empty after emptying out all her rage. Desolate, numb, nothingness, still haunted.
Wisteria in late spring
Lilac purple like your heart
Falling
Falling
Embroidering the front lawn
You won’t leave now
You can’t
Your heart embedded in our garden
Will rot with my tears
Or burn in the summer sun
Flicker of Thoughts 