constant

Flowers wither away.

Paper yellows with age.

Ink fades over time.

Our bodies wither away.

Our hearing lessens with age.

Eyesight fades over time.
Is there any constant?

Yes. Before. Now. Later. Forever.

My hands may be crippled and wrinkled, but still outstretched to you and yours.

You might have to speak up, but the sound of you saying my name still makes me giggle like a school girl.

Come closer and let me look into your beautiful eyes, the eyes that have never changed for as long as I have known you.

Now kiss me as I wrap my arms around your neck.

See, some things never change. Some things are constant.

if I were only as brilliant as William Carlos Williams

I ran after you

threw 4 dollars

into the rose bushes

waiting to see if you came back

I went back outside

to pick them up gently

yet, I pricked my finger

on one beautiful bloom

one thorn

one single blood drop

rolling down my finger

moments later

one single tear drop

rolling down my cheek

the tooth fairy

when I was about 13 or 14

my mom tricked the tooth fairy

into giving her all of my baby teeth

... always having the power of persuasion

I am still not sure how she performed such a difficult feat

she keeps them in a jewelry box

in there are some old coins from Vietnam and Korea

antique turquoise and sterling silver rings from Indian reservations

and a Ziploc bag full of my teeth

some of them still have the dental floss wrapped around them

you could tell which ones brought a little bit more coin from the fairy than others

because the roots are still attached, but the most interesting part

is each and every single one is in the box

in their tiny white and dried blooded innocence

even though, I do not have any children of my own, I do not find this to be strange

in fact, I have plans for these teeth that first taught me to chew and bite

40 years from now when I am a very elderly woman

and my mother passes away peacefully in her sleep

with perfectly painted toe-nails with me right next to her side

I am going to remember these teeth

and when I carry out her wishes and put her cremated ashes

in something quirky like a bamboo urn from Tibet

I will take that Ziploc bag out of my pocket and open it with my arthritic fingers

and slowly pour those teeth in that urn and smile

because I know that in short time someone will carry out my last wishes

and I will join her and be reunited my old baby teeth once again

I bet that old tooth fairy will shake her head and realize

that she didn’t know who she was messing with all those years ago

when she made a deal with a petite stubborn red-headed woman

paper doll

your hands control my perfectly

smooth and perforated little world

my words are your words

my thoughts are your thoughts

I go where you go and no-one else ever has to know

if I have been a good girl

you surprise me with a fashionable hat or dress,

whisper sweet nothings, or even promises of a shiny new tomorrow

but if you suddenly change your mind,

our love can quickly come to a standstill

you see I am merely a commodity, a fantasy,

something to pass the time

cut my hair, poke holes in my eyes,

toss me aside or set my whole body ablaze

for I am just a paper doll

and my dear you are holding

a pair of scissors in one hand

and a lighter in the other

literary soliloquy

it used to be my favorite place on Earth,

until recently.

I could spend hours

running my fingers across

the spines of the works

of Blake, Dickinson, Keats, Whitman.

sitting Indian style with the

words of Atwood in my lap

"I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

& that necessary."

laying in the fetal position

nestled with Neruda's very soul

put on paper held in my fingertips

"I love you as certain dark things

are to be loved, in secret,

between, the shadow and the soul."

Plath and I were blood sisters.

Kerouac and I, lovers in a former life.

yet, now it just brings me great sorrow,

so I stand at the edge remembering;

goodbye poetry section of Barnes and Noble.

I cannot bring myself to take a single step,

closer to the past and what might have been.

instead, I drink the ink from this pen,

as I watch the magic of this sacred place dwindle

and I download everything I need to my Kindle.

hAiKu

stubborn hearts rebelled;

sorrowful thoughts beheld;

memories are dwelled.

snake

 my skin is dry and peeling

perhaps I am shedding like a snake

to turn into something

or someone else

yet maybe I am just casting off

my previous idiosyncrasies

I do not pretend to be beautiful,

or particularly interesting,

or intriguing

I know that I am strange,

most likely lacking in common sense,

with an abundance of knowledge from books,

but not from actually living

the smallest gestures often make my day,

the things that others do not take the time to notice

beauty is in the most obscure places, if we could just unplug

long enough to actually look around

I am often told that I remind someone of someone else

either I have multiple doppelgangers

or my face is simple and not quite

enough to remember or entirely forget

I am a snake

what you see today might

look entirely different tomorrow

unless you think you have the

nerve to get under my skin

as I hiss and shake my little tail

31

31 years old (not young) is how I shall phrase it

because with age comes experience

and with experience comes wisdom

I would not trade in the last ten years

for the fleeting feeling of youth

I am a woman now

and yes that includes all the

complexities and secrets

that womanhood entails

While I long to see places exotic and far away,

I am not in denial and can accept that these

journeys and adventures are likely beyond me,

somewhere in a dream,

lost in a distant thought

I just wish to find my voice again,

feel a soft breeze on my face,

never forget the smell of an old book

perhaps run through the woods,

bare-footed, howling at the moon

any thing and every little spark that reminds me

that while I am 31 years old,

I am still here,

ready to absorb all of which life has to offer

longing to feel everything,

pain, pleasure, happiness, sadness,

pride, courage, anger, even helplessness

the soon exchanging of rings,

the pitter patter of little feet,

followed by handing over car keys and

waving goodbye as they too grow up

my hair slowly showing gray and white strands

wrinkles around my eyes,

the deep-thought line in my forehead that I already have,

loosing my sight and hearing,

rocking in a chair with my sweetie on the front porch

of a home that will carry on in our family for generations

long after we are gone

I am not afraid to die.

It is not living that terrifies me so.



untitled

chartreuse, cerulean, coral, crimson
the architectural ornaments of your mind,
neatly preserved in corked cruets,
unconsciously arranged and as complex,
as the entanglements in which surround them

gossamer gates barricade the opaque corner,
housing these precious jewels behind
elaborate locks with infinite keys and combinations

centered among the assortment of color
is a looming hourglass
halcyon, autonomous

sand trinkles and halts,
filling the bulb
the chance to invert,
to begin again,
is just out of my reach