grit/67

more weeks
than i have
fingers
have passed

and i finally
reached
for your
toothbrush.

scrubbed the
grout between 
yellow tiles in the
bathroom floor,

bristles like
wishing 
dandelions 
splayed and 
oversplayed,

desperate to turn
your ghost into 
something useful;
desperate to be

new.
an industrious
woman.

not this haunted one,
praying on dead flowers.  

fat drops of sweat
made salty riverbeds
on my temples,
gathered like dew
in the hollows of
my collar that was
once lush with flesh
and your lips 

drips that traversed
canyons and valleys
only to find
a resting place
on a dirty bathroom
floor that was
no stranger to
my salt water. 

lies(are greater than/equal to/less than)omissions/66

the things we say and never feel

are worse than

the things we feel and never say

to fetishists (to hunters)/65

to the man
who knows
he is an asian
fetishist but
knows less that
he is a hunter:

when you tell
me that asian
women are
your “thing”

i can’t even
be upset about
your sailor-moon
harajuku geisha
hello kitty fantasy
because i’m too
busy imagining
you on top of me

the way hunters
pose on Bengal
tiger rugs,
like you think
i am nothing
more than a
skin trophy to
display, my
mouth an open
invitation to pry
apart and cut into
a smile,  the emptied
remains of a glorious
beast waiting to
be filled with glass
eyes fixated on you
unblinking
while your
amateur taxidermist
hands push elbow deep
inside, replacing
what i know and what
i cherish with
something meant to
keep me immobile,
belly down
intended to
ease your
heavy footsteps
on a cold wood
floor.

you think i am
nothing
more than
an asian to
fit your fetish.

but i am no game,
big or small
for you to hunt and

i am no empty
beast waiting
to serve the pretty
purpose of
lying down
eyes unblinking
and face broken
into a fragile smile.

i am no
thing.

***

15/30 Poem Every Day

tinman/64

you —

silver spoon-fed
brass knucklehead
bronzed and boxed
baby shoe musty
supple gold fillings,
joints failing rusty
wires spliced —
cerebral explosion,
coils snapped —
acuity corrosion

— always left me
tasting  pennies

***

14/30 Poem Every Day

unremembered/63

its nice.

i think
finally! i
can’t re
member
the feel
of your
palms
pressed
around
my face
or the s
wells of
your chest
in the mou
rning. i do
n’t feel
any long
ing at the
thought of
the rake
lines of
wrinkles
in the crepe
paperskins
of your
tired eyes.

actually,
i havent
felt any
thing in
weeks.

its nice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i think.

***

13/30 Poem Every Day

storyteller/62

(i’ve noticed. )
your unmanaged locks
curled around your ear,
cupping your lobe,
pressed against your
neck, whispering
some sweet story –
tender, familiar,
       noticeably close(d off).

day by day,
the whispers became
louder and the stories
longer. you struggled
to find the point
but kept on listening,
your hair spiraling,
covering you like
a wall of ivy.

suddenly
(you’re a)
stranger and
lost in a story
you can’t quite
finish, adrift
in a tale where your
truth is
fiction.

***

12/30 Poem Every Day

spring snowstorms/61

loving you
is being caught
in a spring
snowstorm.

new life
beginning its bloom
stifled by your
uninvited, least-expected
entrance.
green buds and
soft pink blossoms
cooed back to bed
with your weight
hanging heavy
on new branches
who never stood
a chance.

and when the
storm  subsides
and the
streets flood with
abandoned
leaves
and snapped boughs,
when the
sidewalks stain
crimson with the
crushed anthers
of broken stamen,

i will curse
and blame
and banish
you
for setting
this new
life back
so far.

but right now,
as iridescent
flakes swirl in
a sunshine-muted
afternoon,
i close my
eyes and
realize how
surprisingly
warm
it all
feels.

and,
for now,
i hope it
doesn’t
end.

***

11/30 Poem Every Day

marcel/60

marcel throws away
three servings of
every meal he makes.

he wastes 3/4 of
casseroles,
pitches pastas
pies, and cakes,

and when he does,
it seems his heart
(and pockets)
start to ache

but eating alone
is hard enough,
without one more
habit to break.

***

10/30 Poem Every Day

time/59

surprises foiled
by your absence. youth spoiled
with your abundance

***

9/30 Poem Every Day

cherry/58

broken summer cherries
stain the  palms of
her hands, running
ruby and fuchsia
deep in the crosshatched
intersection of her
heart and head.

she swallows fruit whole,
stems and pits and juicy flesh
her cupids bow blotched
crimson,
and she dreams of
her own flowering,
orchard flourishing,

the day she’ll stain
another’s palms
and rest in the curve
of untouched
lips.

***

8/30 Poem Every Day