I asked for very little from life,
and even this little was denied me.
A nearby field,
a ray of sunlight,
a little bit of calm along with a bit of bread,
not to feel oppressed by the knowledge that I exist, not to demand anything from others,
and not to have others demand anything from me - this was denied me,
like the spare change we might deny a beggar not because we're mean-hearted but because we don't feel like unbuttoning our coat

Three years have gone by.
A little over one thousand days
And it’s been thirty-six months.
I don’t know why I’m still counting
Each dawn that passes by.
I don't know why you haven’t called
To tell me that you miss me
And that you want me back.
But I do know that slowly the nights add up
And soon it will be forty-eight months
One thousand four hundred sixty days.
It’ll be four years
And I will still be wondering why
We haven’t spoken.

one is about to
partake of a green salad
for one's midday meal

I pour myself out
becoming a water to drench this land
and the fields beyond.

My words dig--
tilling the soil, the moments,
uprooting what threatens the growth,
bestowing the change
to the fields beyond.

Autumn will tinge the world
I once viewed as green and new.
But as the green grows
in a familiarity tainted by ennui,
we hold our breath against the cold
promise of harvest
and wish to grow, as well.

October is for waiting.
As a foreigner transplanted in this flatland,
I ponder any small, crucial detail
I've forgotten
and wait for our joy
to grow
gold.

i miss the old wooden swing in my backyard
where i used to sit and think and write for hours

i miss being lazy on the living room couch
and watching cartoons with my youngest brother

i miss sitting in my room, hearing footsteps from the floor above
and being able to know exactly whose they were

i miss waking up late on saturday mornings
to the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen

i miss being able to tell my little sister she looks pretty
every morning before she goes off to school

i miss sitting on my mother's bedroom floor
and listening to her tell stories about Tennessee

i miss hearing my father constantly whistle and sing
while he walked around the house doing different things

i miss living four minutes away from my best friend
and sleeping at her house for days just because i could

i miss talking to my brothers at 2 o'clock in the morning
about absolutely nothing and positively everything

i miss taking pictures of my backyard, even though nothing
about it has really changed in the past twelve years

but i think that i miss home the most at mealtimes

- m.f.