sunrise, sunset

I used to sing about sunrise
and now that sun has set -
watching it burn up the clouds
in a fiery rainbow palette
shadow branches silhouette
in its wake, an inky blue void
swallows up all light until
the darkness gives birth
to the tiny points
of countless distant suns.

Sometimes the music flows
through my veins, moving
the blood cells along their course
to bring oxygen, life itself
to my limbs, circling through
my heart, pulsing with the beat,
synchronized beat.

Whenever I witness beauty in this world,
my thoughts fly to you, holding in their beak
a seed to share with you, singing sweet notes
that help it to grow. You are infinitely interesting
to me, I sing, and I want you to know that
even if I fly away, this tree will never go.

a little girl at my mother's mirror

I am a little girl at my mother's mirror
clumsily applying the angriest shade of red lipstick
my little fingers could find.
"I look all grown up!" I proclaim,
when really, the makeup accentuates
my immaturity.You laugh brightly
as you wipe my face clean.

The plaster mask I hastily formed
to hide behind crumbles in my shaky hands.
“Look, Mommy, it’s okay - I’m still
holding it all together.” But you say,
“Baby, it’s already broken, and
holding it tightly doesn’t make it whole -
it just keeps your hands full of a mess.
If you give it to me, your hands will be free
to hold and make and do great things.
Trust me.” And I let it go.

winter

The cold rain crying on
the window shield with wipers
smells so lonely.

The inky black void above
blotting stars and obscuring moon
looks so lonely.

The frost on the ground and
the crunch under feet
sounds so lonely.

The freezing air deep in
my lungs with trembling breaths
feels so lonely.

Winter, you know how to
make a woman want to
not be alone and lonely.

your face before dawn

My dreams are innocent things –
your arm around me is all I need.
your hand in mine says everything.

Then as I wake up
the next moments shake up
the image gradually -
etch-a-sketch visions
can’t survive reality.

My dreams of late are bittersweet:
sweet that I’m with you,
bitter that they’re not true.

I’m not sure what I want now,
but this nothing’s too much.
I’m not sure what I need now,
but this whatever just sucks.

I wake up to my present reality:
empty lungs craving nicotine,
empty space lacking gravity.
I don’t miss the habit, but I miss our past.
I don’t miss the orbit, but I miss your mass.

Bread tastes the sweetest when it flakes.
The heart always soars before it breaks.
It feels good to see your face before dawn,
even though I know it’s time to move on.

pillar of fire, pillar of cloud

You are my pillar of fire
by night, keeping me warm
my guiding light.
You are my pillar of cloud
by day, giving me shade
you show me the way.
Maybe my will to follow
you is anti-feminist
or semi-idolatrous.
But how can I ignore
your light that is so humble
and yet so bright?
Your communal fire
burns for me and yearns to be
closer. Your cloud precipitates
the particles of my desires -
dew drops and sweat blend
on my skin. How can I deny
your shade that hears what I say
and shows me the way to go
together?

melt me

*Note: This is one of my very first poems. It's still one of my favorites. Since most of my love poetry is about the unrequited sort, I thought I'd post something different in honor of Valentine's Day.

When I get all frozen up and
Iced over, you take me
Out of my self-constructed freezer.
Sometimes I begin to think that the freezer
Is where I belong.
Is my life.
But you take me out,
Comfort and cradle my cold face.
                                         hands.
                                         feet.
                                         heart.
You know that being frozen can hurt.
You don't scald me right away but
Carefully,
               gently,
                           patiently
Melt me
And lay me out to dry.

permanently

Loving you
has left its mark
on me, your face
on my heart, deep.

Loving me
has left its mark
on him, my name
on his palm, permanently.

Loving you
changes me
changes you
loving me
making marks
on our identities
loving, deep
marking, permanently.

My deep, a drop
in his eternity...
individually, collectively
on his palm, permanently.