[mother’s memory—]
mother’s memory—
roses in thunderstorms,
her temper still alive
Teacher urges the dream emerge—and I resist
her gifts—sycamore figs, a skin of creamy wine—
blessed boons that I resist. I escape by leaps
low into water—and submerge where darkness lies.
I resist the tick-a-snap of turtle song and diving eel
to breathe brackish salt—resist tickles by fish, resist
tinkling scales—such notes, always noting my body
far dips in gloom, purging light. I resist.
I return anew at once—Ali-baba, the blooming koi,
scales iridescent as pearl—I surface! I resist! Rebel.
My teacher catches me and fries me for our school,
and food for you. Snatched in my vigor—
because I resist. Author, what teacher would teach
the student to let it emerge, and savor his resistance?
“We keep it light
She approached as I rested on the bench
her attention drawn to him,
who at first scurried under the bench
fearful but slowly allowed her to pat
his white furry head.
She stayed for over 20 minutes sharing
her loneliness for her pets, her people,
ethnic food from her home- India.
A graduate student living in dorms
close by to this gorgeous Arboretum,
studying Social Work with her husband,
who was sleeping after working
a night shift on break from classes.
This chance meeting would never
occurred without Percy,
the ambassador of love and affection.
I’m a book you opened,
read aloud and laughed at,
then slammed shut against the countertop—
spine cracked,
pages splayed like accusations.
You left the bed unmade,
sheets untucked,
socks unmatched,
clothes shoved half‑unpacked into the chest—
evidence I can’t fold away.
I reach—
trying to drag you out
from inside me.
You walk around wearing my smile
like a jacket you borrowed
and forgot to return—
while I am still here, unfolding.
I wish I could say
I’ve read every book in my house–
I like to think I just might
There are days
I don’t know what to do first–
I walk about the house,
drag my fingers across
the books on all the shelves,
touch the spines displayed
vertically, some with raised print,
bold fonts, fancy covers:
Maine Farms , Beautiful American Rose
Gardens, Dinners with Ruth, Sensual Math,
By Southern Hands, The Joy Luck Club, How to Live
an Organized Life, The Mill on the Floss, Complete
Do-it-Yourself Manual, The Sound of a Wild Snail
Eating, Emma
Such randomness, such delight–
I know what to do first.
The feeling of pulsing behind the eyes
Being frostbite cold
But warm to everything I touch
A separate form of conscience
The fear of being called out
I focus on the video in front of me
Forgetting entirely about this poem
Dissociate into myself thinking about dissociating into myself
Brother next to me
Talking and speaking about things I don’t understand
I nod and say “yuh” without actually getting it
Too much stimulation
I’m thirsty
Once again I forget about the poem
My life being morphed into one stream of consciousness
Yearn to go outside
Reset the timer
Stare at the smoky sky
Unconscious
Walls full of teeth
Moss over my eyes
Vines of my ears
Webs over my mouth
And sand over my tastebuds
3 hours later now
Time to restart the cycle
