the day Erin died, I
was struck with the selfish horror of
impermanence. It was
unbelievable to
me that
an unjust world would hand me this
sorrow. I was wracked with the inability to act, save,
think or
do, and I was devoid of the confrontation of my
limits and weaknesses. I could not
save her.
Now it’s been two years and the
sorrow I’ve
held has
loosened like
a tight balloon, it’s draped across my
ribcage like
an ever-present reality.
I still maintain the
ambitious goal to
make a difference, my
knowledge is now awakened that
I am bound by
limits. I could not
save her yet I
am trying to save
myself, from my limitations
I grow into a
compassionate weight
of my own, the circle
of grief listening, widening
as others cry their own
heaviness. I hold
them like I would hold
an umbrella: carefully,
fully knowing the
rain is falling off the thin
nylon surface. We feel
the rain but
do not
let it soak
in.

gray. dust and plaster litter the floor scraped off
hastily from the name are
stickers, an open/closed sign. I  can’t
remember the name and the
sign hanging perhaps above the door is gone. The shop
looks strangely tiny now, even though its chairs and tables are gone. I wonder
the last click of the lock that the ownder heard
if it was a tragic goodbye of an empty memory, or a
relieved echo off somewhere that was
too cramped
or old, or the wiring sparked and caused
blackouts. Either way, I’m glad
that shop is closed. It contains the memory of an awful date and even more
awful tea. And now that it’s gone,
so is my memory. Almost.

So, I’m late, as usual.
He smells weird; a mixture
of sweat and cologne.
I ask softly if he wants to meet
my bunny and he turns away.
I am too quiet.
We go to a restaurant and
he asked what I’d like to order
I am too unsure.
I start playing with the sugar packets
build a house, a garden, a roof. It falls.
I am appalled at his lack of appreciation,
lack of poise, he is joking but not smiling
and I feel uncomfortable.
I am too lonely.
And that’s why I keep hoping the
next date will be better
Why don’t you date someone else,
he asks. Twice.
I am too confused.
I leave with a sigh of relief
I am too good
for him.

simple swing sunlight
glinting off tiny sparkling feet
the pure joy of wind and speed
rushed and slipping by through the hot summer
days. streams of shadows play and splash
around the busy feet, the small bodies
jump and swoop up and around the
flat cushion ground.

memories are made here, with mom
just an arm’s length away - and then -
woosh! soaring again, mouth with
six new teeth shouting in pure
moment and monuments of love and
fun cement themselves in this
flashbulb second:

imagine it with me, I’ve taken
you there: a girl in a pink
dress, the fluffs of her curls just
emerging from her soft head and wide
brown eyes, her smile suspended in
the air as she floats slowly forward

her mom, her source of love, arms
tan and strong that have held her and
kissed her tears away, outstreched
to meet the red plastic swing to push
again, to push again, and her daughter

enjoys this almost-flight. she never
wants it to end.

***** uncertain words escape my raccoon eyes,
I speak to you, my friend. Did you know
I saw a boy
who used to throw chalk at me in class
who used to be the quickest in soccer
who used to be best friends with your older brother
who used to have a home –
I saw him
broken down by hatred.
Today that little boy
who was Team Blue in Color War
Now smokes two packs a day
now his eye are
Times the danger,
Minus the mischief,
Add the stress. Add the red caked on his memory. Add the bonewhite weariness
that comes with duty.
today a county is wiped clean –
minus the purity, the holiness,
add the tension –
see it as it breaks its teeth on this boy.
See it jump and grab his ankles –
only his ***** gray fingernails are holding him back
until he discovers
how much addition his country needs.

I scuff my sneakers on the sidewalks glancing sideways
at commuters and their habits
stock-still from rusted bench to the same speckled train seat to the same stained coffee cup
settled gently on tired laps
same crosswords to turn the gears then – look! the tired frayed split ends & split
jeans of the “wild crowd” – 3 of them huddled in the corner,
the remains of the dawn’s crack
and boom of mics and plastic beer pushed hastily into
cups and glowsticks into
back pockets, the poetry of the worker clashing with the night rave.
We are awash in threadbare floors
that thousands of footsteps caught and dragged the morning out into the ever-
repetitive path
we crave this
it is so old and tired and we crave it
even our glowticks are
fading
changing from neon green and pink
to traffic cone orange
gray pigeoned collars
and scuffed sneakers
seamless changes of building to street speed by
drinking it in blindly, getting our
fix of the day
from stop to seat to the same stained coffee cup

Time is a hungry beast
it devours and consumes
hours, minutes, seconds,
life but a small dry snack
it crushes and smacks its
jaws and smiles smugly
when it finishes its meal.
and when the wafer-thin life
promises terrible and boring
classes and summers and rainy days
Time crawls along slowly and lazily
hotter than fire to make one's eyes
sleepy and drooping and realize
that it will take forever to end
but time is never stagnant, no
matter how slow it crawls
time warps, destroys, spreads wrinkles and
empty promises.
making plans spreads chills
along its spine
puts it in order
but it fights its box
it yawns at the future
Time bites its tail
and encircles conception, growth
and even graves.
Touching everything,
Time's claws grasp
the tumultuous heavens
and sandy barren ground
it swallows oceans and
grinds bones to dust
but without it,
life would dissolve into
empty eternity.