peace. inhale, exhale. i trace shapes in the mist forming on the shower wall. a heart. my heart. it beats against my ribs. rhythmically, like the hot water running in cascades over my shoulders. rain. i listen to it harmonize, singing against the windowpanes. i embrace myself in a towel. lamb’s fur. i count to ten. exhale, inhale. peace.
Poem
Free Waters
I wish the world could see me now The waves are light The winds are soft I left my army up on land Defenseless, I stand Whispers inside my head What I never thought would ever end I close my eyes, I listen My costume gone, I leave the earth I set my coat on a hook The whispers never hold me now A clear voice has found me somehow I listen, I follow I never want to see tomorrow When whispers will come back again And my feet will rest upon the land They say that it is safer there But I am not scared of the waters True Defenseless Silent Waters Free Waters
Beautiful
As I came out of my skin I had no idea How beautiful I was when I bloomed I was white, yellow, blue, and green Me And as I thought to myself The sky is blue The grass is green Dotted with pictures My past, my present This is how it was meant to be I am Me
A lot of nature with a little bit of red
A lot of nature with a little bit of red, And that is to be said. Trees and forests for miles on end. I forget the cityscape, but I try to pretend. The branches start to bend, And then there is a crack. The fire starts to sizzle and glow, like preparing an attack. We huddle around the fire, Though we have one more desire. At least we do not need to “brrr.” We collect the ingredients and start to stir. The fire grows higher and higher In fact, so high It lights up the night sky. Our brains start to tire. Now I can only darkness and the fire. We pour the soup into bowls, though it starts to droop. I go to sleep, though wondering if I’m in a loop. Am I inevitably waiting for my doom? Or perhaps I’m trapped inside a room. But as the night sky fades from night, I start to see daylight. Waking up again to see the same sight. For I am still here, and the wood is still bark. The sky has turned bluish though still very dark. I light another match, I sit down and start to attach. To reflect how I got here and everything I’ve said. As I look at my surroundings, A lot of nature with a little bit of red.
Questions
I wonder what it would be like To live in a world Where I sound strange. I wonder what came after before But before history. I’m supposed to wonder, What? Where? When? Those are the questions I’m supposed to ask. But instead, I always ask, Why? I think it’s annoying. I think I don’t care.
Gone Feeding
“Gone fishing” is misleading, A phrase some people say For me, the fish just eat my bait And then they swim away
Little Bay Soup
Start with a bucket of water Taken straight from the bay Taste, to ensure it is salty Look, to ensure it is gray Find the Little Bay Sand Witch Borrow a cup of her sand Ask for the kind that is sweaty Or I warn you your soup will be bland Hunt for the shell of a moon snail Moon snails are found at low tide Stick your hand deep in the gravel Deep—to avoid you—they hide Find the four spikes of an urchin Cover in jellyfish spread Garnish with cordgrass and glasswort And algae, stringy and red Locate some rocks that are shiny, For texture, grind up a clam A spoonful of slimiest seaweed And the bumps of the bumpiest crab Now listen, ever so closely It’s called the London tree plane Gather the bark it has shedded And add to it a liter of rain Now stir it all into a whirlpool And wait for some lightning to strike it During the full moon of August It’s worth it! I promise you’ll like it!
Lime Tree
Lovely lime leaf tree marching in the gloomy woods. In winter leaves sadly die. Birds chirp a beautiful song. My goodness, look how much you’ve grown! I said one sunny day. Every year lime leaves overflow the autumnal woods.
Swallows
At the crack of dawn, In the cloudless sky, Gulps of swallows perched on silver firs, Sing blithely to the wakening sun. When the sun bleeds its velvet wounds, Tainting the sky in crimson hues, Flocks of darkly plumaged swallows, Graze the sunlit waters, fringing it with shadows. When the sky is shrouded by an ebony cloak of stars, And the moon hangs at a perfect crescent, The swallows come aloft, Silent and obscured by the unfurling twilight. Their wingtips brush past the moon, Their wings no longer black, are now tasseled with moonlight.
state of peace
have you ever wondered what it feels like to fly? flying is falling, just in a different direction. jumping is swimming, just from a different angle. sometimes I wonder what weightlessness feels like. i walk towards the edge of the cliff. i wish I was a bird. birds are like rockets. rockets are like life. you grow, and grow, and grow, until you return to your original state of nothingness i forget what nothingness feels like. nothingness must be like weightlessness, just like falling is like flying. but if falling is weightlessness, is flying nothingness? weightlessness is tranquility, in its most pronounced form. i long for tranquility. the purely tranquil state seems like a dream dreams are like salad; they make you feel healthy, and joyous until you choke on the random peppercorn that just had to be there. if falling is weightlessness, and weightlessness is tranquility, then i wish to fall. to be at peace. i turn around and face the mountain. i grip the jagged rocks and climb up, up, higher and higher, until I am taller than the stars. i reach up, and i grasp the sun in the palm of my hand. i have reached the top of the world. and now i shall Fall
Summer Evening
The light is soft, the air is moist, the water rushes fast, the stars shine, each one a glowing crumb in the sky. The land is quiet and solemn. The owl calls, without haste, “Whoo? Who?” as if talking to the column of moonlight that stretches across the land, as if to soften the quickly growing darkness. The moon, full of solemnity, stares down upon it all. A beautiful painting, a lovely design.
A muted invitation
Oh, write me a chapter, one where I am none, the trees lash merrily, the sun is dim, a muted invitation, for me, for you.
