The fruits of another day
                     have been mashed up
       by my mother's
                treasured mortar and pestle.

   I will gather the
         crushed seeds, and    sprinkle
               them with care
  upon the freshly baked

           fluffy, strawberry
                          faith cake

          of which I will slice
                      and feed my family,
     and all of those
             wishing for a bite of love.

                    I will take the
                             sunny, sweet juices,
             drop in a handful
                          of humble tea leaves,

   pour in half a cup of
               fervent longing's
fuzzy, pink lemonade,
  
          a generous amount
  of golden, savory
                 poetry syrup,

and three spoonfuls      of my grandmother's  
            lovely minty remedy
        for calling forth
                           the spicy, sultry desire to live.

      I take my
               Lush Life's Drink
         into the Purple Midsummer Cafe,

   and quench the thirsts
                of translucent, paper people
  tolling throughout
endless
          days and nights,

          solving countless
                      math & society problems,
  writing novels of
      insecurities, acceptance,
& hope,
   
         and every evening,
all gathering at
       the Purple Midsummer Cafe

to faithfully consume    
my
     Lush Life's Drink,

          paying up the small fee of
  a tender smile or so,
         a warm enveloping hug,
                  a handshake of
               gratitude & humility.

Milky, twinkling stars swiveling
in a diamond night sky are beautiful,
and the brightest one will lead you home,
but for now, I want to bring you
out into the light where at the fissure
of pale gold and orange in the blue
sky's dawn, you may suddenly draw
inspiration once again.
I would bring you to the peak of a mountain
to inhale a reservoir of fresh, crisp air
in an altitude of where you feel
you can belong, gazing out towards
the green valley and down the winding path,
leading back down to a narrow world,
but for now, (and eternity)
you can be above them all.  
I see your footsteps left behind on the
snowy cap, crunching beneath your feet
a reminder to both of us how you exist,
a humble memoir in the realness of a hurting,
beautiful being.
And in my dream when you came back
to life, we were spread out wildly on
blossoming, white clouds blown about in
warm winds, and the golden sunlight
brought out the clear, blue- gray in your eyes
and traced the freckles dabbling your cheeks
and you were just laughing,
because you were so free.
But in dark clashes of thunder, when
rain was not somebody's nourishing love
but instead painful, dark tears, there were
people's crude remarks and stark dispiritedness,
I held you tight in my arms, like a tree
sheltering a lone girl from prowling wolves
gathered your tears and turned them
into crystals, knowing one day
you'll teach yourself to throw them at
the narrow world full of paper people
and their paper ideas.
So for now, rest in the cradle
of my warm, loving palms,
and grow into the strong and beautiful
person you most want to become.

When the sun’s rays
illuminate the awakening, vast sky,
soak through fresh, gathering clouds
and tuck the stars and moon under
a blanket of warmth,
someone will find us,
seated up there on the white bleachers
in the stadium overlooking the track,
breathing in crisp, new air
with squinted eyes soaking in
the gold outlining the horizon,
enjoying a time of solitary togetherness
in an eventful but dazed world
where the color of its inhabitants
are to us, black and white,
but still, we ride on hope and two children's
combined abilities to dream,
and our feet planted firmly, but leaning forward
in an infinite space of chances,
enveloped in quiet moments of each other,
of where we’ve been,
who we are,
and where we’re going.

You promised me the world,
Then left to go find your own.

her foot never fully touched the ground,
remaining half afloat in the air--
stuck in the clouded mist of her anxious mind,
she could not grasp the full weight of reality

her dance too tentative to be considered one of grace,
she treaded carefully with each step, although,
she knew this all with a great familiarity--

a constant state of limbo and disarray,
out of touch with sight and mind,
thoughtless rumination
all gather to combine into this displacement

she leaps with hope and faith,
but unable to press her foot along the earth
she glides over the dust and ruin,
seeking to avoid rather than settle-- she survives without living